


Reaper

by KTfromTHEstix



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Mild Smut, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTfromTHEstix/pseuds/KTfromTHEstix
Summary: Geralt and Yennefer try to cheat death.Drabble from the below prompt:"The grim reaper is no longer able to claim lives directly. Instead, when your time is up, a mark appears on your body and it is the duty of every other person to kill you on sight."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 64
Kudos: 56





	1. Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Another prompt drabble no one asked for – I could not resist this one. I took it even a bit farther than the prompt indicated – gotta be extra.

[ _The grim reaper is no longer able to claim lives directly. Instead, when your time is up, a mark appears on your body and it is the duty of every other person to kill you on sight_.] 

_Oh no, please, no._ Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at the black mark that had appeared on the underside of her wrist. It looked almost like an elegantly scrolled tattoo, but the design was clear, an “X”. She was supposed to be dead, and the first person to see the mark would make sure she got that way. 

Yennefer pulled the sleeve of her jacket low, trying to cover it for the time being. She would no longer be able to pass through any of the guarded checkpoints, which meant she would have to press ahead on foot in hiding, leaving her car behind. The thought made her nervous, her car had been the last bit of security, reminding her of the world she knew before. 

It was only three or four years ago, but it felt like a few decades had gone by since the marks began appearing. It was like all of humanity’s life saving advances had been erased. If you ever had a close call, received life saving medical care, or had avoided death in any fashion, you eventually became marked. Some people knew why, a seatbelt had saved their life once upon a time, or a if routine infection had been treated with antibiotics, you could expect to find yourself a target. 

Once marked, a person would spread their affliction to those around them, and like any true plague, it wasn’t long before quarantine and eventually, euthanasia. It became clear that if a marked person lived, they would gradually taint everyone around them until their life was surrendered. Fear ran rampant, and complete chaos broke out. Vigilantes took to the streets, armed gangs patrolled their neighborhoods and executed anyone who bore the mark and posed a threat. 

What was left of the government had stepped in, albeit too late, and established a tenuous order. Curfews and checkpoints were put into place, armed guards patrolling the streets often. Utilities could still be found in some areas, electricity in few, running water in most. Still, many people who once lived in urban areas had poured into the countryside to get away from the tyranny and unrest. Logic and science had been thrown out, and the whole of society was at the mercy of some mysterious, all-seeing force that wished the near extinction of civilization.

Whole families were wiped out. Anyone with a serious medical condition from diabetes to asthma was essentially left helpless and many succumbed to the mark or the lack of medical care. Yennefer was young, in her early twenties, and her parents were gone. Most people her age suffered the same fate, and lonely refugees banded together for companionship and survival. 

The apartment she had shared with her parents burned down, along with half the street over a year ago, and she’d been living in her car since. Fuel was easy to find, and it got her where she needed to go to find supplies. Winter was coming and the climate in Pittsburgh was unforgiving to those who found themselves without shelter. 

The morning sun was low in the sky when she dashed away her tears, rolled up her sleeping bag, and lit a small fire. She supposed she could hide the car and still sleep in it, she just couldn’t drive, knowing she would fail an inspection. She rubbed the skin on her wrist through her sleeve, wiggling her fingers near the flames to warm them. 

She knew this was coming. As soon as society realized what the mark meant, and what must be done, her mother had broken down in tears. Her mother had to have an emergency C-section when she was born, and their hope that she would avoid the mark had been for naught. She tried to dwell on the positive, she should have died as a baby. She got twenty wonderful years with loving parents and wonderful friends. All of whom were gone, except _him_.

She didn’t know him from _before_ , but he was probably the only person who would notice she was gone. Miss her a bit maybe. She stared at the flames and her eyes unfocused while she thought of him. 

Geralt was one of four guards who rotated and manned the checkpoint in pairs on the southern end of the little town. He’d been kind to her, his touch gentle for such a big man when he’d checked her wrists for the mark. Day after day she passed through and they spoke for longer each time, until his partner began to tease them. 

She traded services for goods in the town, doing whatever tasks short of whoring that would earn her something in return. When she left each night she’d drop treats in his palm, little muffins or a rare piece of candy she acquired. A few days prior she’d grown bold and pressed a kiss to the stubble on his cheek, earning her a hesitant touch of his lips on hers and a whistled cat call from his friend. 

Her eyes sharpened and focused on anything but her mind's blurry vision of him. All for naught. She would be caught by one of the mobile patrols or starve in hiding. Neither option was appealing. She buttoned her coat to the base of her throat and checked that her small knife was safe in the pocket of her black cargo pants. 

The thin layer of snow was melting as the sun rose, and would make her harder to track. He would notice her absence and if she wanted to see him one last time, it was best that she do so right away, before the real snow hit. 

It would pain him to put her down, but he was strong, he would get over it. It was selfish of her, but she felt comforted that her last moments would be with him. She trusted him to make it clean and quick for her, as painless as possible. 

She loaded her meager belongings into her backpack, leaving a few sentimental items behind in her car, and tucking every practical thing she owned into the bag. She smiled a bit as she packed the flint rock her father had given her for a camping trip with her girlfriends so many years ago. To think that Geralt might make use of it comforted her some. 

She doused her small fire and hefted her bag, taking one last look at her campsite. She turned on the heel of her boot and began the march to her death. 

-

Yennefer broke through the treeline and stopped, she was about fourty yards from the guard station, the barbed wire fencing around the town looping wide. She could hear Geralt and the other guard, Jaskier, talking. Well, Jaskier talked and Geralt listened. The gravel road was silent, not another vehicle or person could be seen nor heard.

She could tell when he noticed her over the shorter man’s shoulder, he tipped his head up in confusion, no doubt wondering why she hadn’t approached like she normally would. She shook her head, her gaze downcast. She slid the heavy bag from her back, setting it a few paces away. No need for her to bequeath him a bloody backpack. 

She could read his body language when he understood why she wouldn’t come forward. His head tilted to the side in concern, his shoulders sinking as he realized her fate. Jaskier had stopped talking, trying to interpret the wordless conversation they held. She broke the silence. “Please.” Her voice was clear, but it belayed her resignation. 

Instead of coming to her, he turned and spoke to his partner. She was surprised, but maybe there was protocol in place for leaving his post. Maybe he wished to take the coward’s way out and have the other man do their foul duty. Regardless, she had betrayed her condition to representatives of the government tasked with keeping others safe, and they would come for her. 

She turned and faced the woods, abuzz with morning activity. A squirrel crashed through the crisp leaves not far away. She knelt, sitting back on her boots and folded her hands over her belly, closing her eyes. She took a deep breath and waited. 

Silence. Nothing. 

Until all of a sudden, heavy, rapid footfalls grew closer. He was running, heavy boots pounding into the frozen grass. She had hoped he would use his pistol, but perhaps there was an ammunition shortage – it wouldn’t be the first time. This would be more painful than she had planned. She scrunched her eyes as tight as she could and braced herself for the impact.

He crashed into her, but instead of blinding pain, he looped his arms around her and picked her up off of the ground. He reached back and slung her bag over his back and tore off toward the woods with her in tow. She grappled for purchase and banded her arms around his neck as he puffed out big breaths of air and put as much distance between them and the guard station as he could. 

“Geralt!” She whispered loudly where her face was pressed against his neck. “You don’t understand!” He ducked off the gravel road and entered the thicket, avoiding any of the small trails that could be tracked easily.

“I do understand.” The briars and bushes were slowing him down but he pressed on, tucking her legs closer to his chest. 

“Why?” She pushed against his chest. “Are you crazy?” He set her down, catching his breath for a few moments. “You have to do it, or give me the gun Geralt. I’m sorry I came to you, it was selfish of me, but –“

His lips covered hers and she forgot what she was even trying to say. His big hand was light on her jaw and he slanted his mouth over hers until she overcame her surprise and kissed him back, inching her hands up his coat to wrap around his neck. His tongue brushed against the seal of her lips and she opened for him, a quiet whimper escaping when he swept inside. 

He pulled her tight against him and her boots lifted from the frozen ground. He tasted of mint, her nose filled with the smell of the woods and his manly scent when she broke for air. She nudged her forehead against his, her lashes fluttering shut again as she savored the feel of his embrace. 

She regained her footing and ran her thumb across his cheekbone, he was so handsome. The leather band he used to hold his silvered hair back had been ripped out by the thicket and it hung wild around his face. “Geralt, you must.” 

“No.” His voice was low, and husky from their kiss. “I won’t lose you too.” 

“It’ll take you as well. It's not your time.” She rolled her wrist and pulled up her sleeves, showing him what he already knew was there. Not only would he be hunted the same as her, but he would earn his own death for not taking her life. He took her hand and brushed a kiss over the intricate mark on her skin. 

“I don’t care.” He would not be swayed. “Just come with me, please.” She succumbed to the desperate expression on his face.

-

They made their way through the thick woods, purposefully trying to minimize and cover their trial. He froze, listening, and then motioned her forward into a small clearing in front of a compact hunting cabin. He pointed out a wire that ran the perimeter of the clearing and she stepped over it. Firewood was stacked neatly by the door and the small porch was swept clean. 

She followed him inside a small barn, about the same size as the cabin. Her jaw dropped when a beautiful chestnut brown mare stared back at her. “Hera, meet Yennefer.” 

She was stunned, “How?” Horses had been rounded up years ago by the government and issued to the patrol units. 

“I’ve kept her hidden back here. Been living up at the main house. It’s over a mile away and closer to the road, but twice a day I hiked back to tend to her and the garden around the side of the cabin.” He turned back to her and pulled a twig from her ebony curls. “A contingency plan, for the day when I couldn’t get through a checkpoint myself. Amend that, to keeping both of my girls safe.” 

-

The cabin was well stocked considering most people were living hand to mouth. He’d rationed and gone without to stow the pile of cans and jars in the only cabinet. A table and two chairs, a small fireplace and a bed covered in soft blankets completed the small room. Blessedly, the door opposite the table led to a small bathroom. “It’s run with gravity and an underground well. No shower or tub though, it’s the half barrel out on the front porch, but I can heat the water for you.” 

Not only had he thrown away his freedom, and eventually his life for her, but he wholeheartedly offered her everything he had tucked away for himself. She used the facilities in town every day, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in an actual bed. “It’s too much.” She whispered.

“It’s nothing. Five years ago I would have put you up at the Ritz Carlton for a special treat, but now, this is it.” He rested his hands on her waist and laid his chin on her shoulder. 

“It’s wonderful.” She turned to kiss his rough cheek, and then all the way to meet her lips to his. 

“Would you like a bath?”

“Are you telling me I smell bad?” She feigned outrage.

He raised his hands in innocence, “Not at all, forget I said –“

She stopped him, “Yes, _please_.” He smiled knowingly and carried two buckets to the spigot. Judging by the sun it was late afternoon and her stomach rumbled. She ignored it, used to going hungry when food was scarce. She peeled off her coat and her boots, and took the time to shake the dusty quilt on the porch while he walked by ferrying buckets of cold, then steaming water. 

Yennefer found it hard to tear her gaze from the direction they had come, expecting guards to pour from the trees in a hail of shouts and gunfire, but none came. Jaskier had kept his word and bought them time. 

The sun began to set and her bath was ready. She tiptoed onto the porch in her worn bra and panties, but he stared at her like she was strutting the runway in Victoria’s Secret designs. She blushed and he averted his gaze, turning so she could remove the last of her garments. “ _Oh,_ fuck,” she moaned. “I have never felt anything so good in my life.” She sank into the water up to her chin and watched him grab a steadying arm to the wall. 

He tried to bolt down the steps, mumbling about mucking out Hera’s stall. She called him back. “You went through all of that and you’re not going to bathe?” He would when she was done. “That’s stupid, it’ll be ice cold. There’s room in here, unless you truly are repulsed?” 

She handed him the bar of soap when he climbed in, not bothering to look away. She had never seen such male perfection, even her Greek history books from years ago had not prepared her for the sight of him. Hard work had molded him as any god could have. She had a sudden bout of insecurity, she was on the thin side, given the amount of physical toll her daily life had taken and an unsteady food supply. He didn't seem to share her poor opinion of herself.

He traced his hand along her back and pulled her tight to the side of his leg, kissing the damp hair on her temple. They explored each other’s bodies hesitantly at first, a caress on a knee or circular pressure on a tense muscle. He ran his arms up her sides and his thumbs ghosted over her breasts, prompting a shudder and her gasp. 

She peppered kisses across his collar bone and her leg slid down in between his in the soapy water. She froze when she felt his erection, hard against her thigh. She slipped her hand beneath the water and ran her palm the length of him, before he caught her wrist carefully. “We don’t have to do any of that. I didn’t bring you here just to – “

“Geralt,” she interrupted him, “I’m cold, take me to bed?” The sun had set and the air rapidly chilled around them. 

She thought her body would be cold and in the ground that night, not skittering across the porch of his cabin and laughing while they hurried to grab their clothes. 

-

She laid on her back, the homespun quilt soft against her skin, a fire crackling low in the fireplace in an attempt to keep them hidden. He leaned over her, lavishing her with praise as the water droplets disappeared from their skin. He murmured words of affection while he marveled at her body and it made her heart soar. When he put his mouth to her breast she arched into his touch. Her mind reeled and her pale skin flushed from head to toe. She had thought only of survival for so many years, and he stripped all that away from her burdened soul. 

Her dark hair fanned over the bedding, his just as soft but a stark contrast in color, falling against her heated skin as he worshiped her. His hands were rough with work and they awoke her sensitive flesh like she had never felt before. He touched her where she longed for him, amidst her beating pulse and rolling hips. She squeezed great handfuls of the quilt before she lost herself, bright light behind her lids as he carried her away and slowly pulled her back to reality. 

There was pain, she predicted as much the moment his pants landed on the porch, but he was so gentle with her that it didn’t last overly long. He mouthed at her neck, his arms strained with the effort of keeping his pace slow, and she ran her fingertips over the rolling musculature of his broad back. Their kisses were passionate and unpracticed, leaving her unable to halt the soft sounds of pleasure that spurred him on. 

She tensed below his heavy frame, toes curling against his calves, her vibrant eyes wide as the bow broke and pleasure cascaded through her body. He groaned his climax loud in the small cabin, his hand holding the feminine flair of her hips tight to his as she trembled. They kissed and nuzzled each other languidly until the last tremor left her and he slumped to the mattress next to her.

She tangled her legs with his and folded her body to his chest, feeling safe for the first time since the marks first terrorized the world. She asked him if they should take shifts, one of them on watch, but his soft snores against her forehead answered for him. 

-

Yennefer woke to shouts, jarring her from the warm and safe cocoon of his quilt. He’d pulled his pants on and was crouching low by the door, his gun in one hand and a finger on his lips. She nodded, keeping quiet while she bent over the side of the bed for the clothes she’d left there the night before. _God_ , she thought they’d have more time. A few months, weeks at least. 

She yanked on her shirt and tugged her pants up her legs. She pulled the knife from her pocket and crept toward him, kneeling by his side. He leaned back against the wall and clicked the gun’s safety off. She watched him do it, and nearly collapsed when she saw his wrist. Black as night, the same mark as hers - one of imminent death, had appeared on his tanned skin. 

One night, he’d sacrificed his life for one night with her. She covered her mouth with her palm to silence her sob, anguish clear on her delicate features. “Hey.” He whispered. She tore her eyes from the mark to his face. “Worth it.” He leaned to wipe at the tears that skirted down her cheeks. 

He listened intently to the small commotion outside, a shot rang out and there was silence until, “Geralt!” It was his parter, his friend, Jaskier. “Geralt, I’ve the mark.” He was beside himself. “I helped you help her and now I’m fucked.”

Geralt closed his eyes and rocked his head back against the wall, guilt washing over him. 

“I’m sure you’re waiting to put a bullet in me, but I don’t give a fuck if she’s marked anymore. I’ve just killed Istredd, and, they’re coming Geralt. The whole platoon is headed this way.” 

To Be Continued -


	2. Aim Be True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both marked, Yennefer and Geralt must figure out how to stay alive with an army bearing down on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"The grim reaper is no longer able to claim lives directly. Instead, when your time is up, a mark appears on your body and it is the duty of every other person to kill you on sight."_.

_“I’m sure you’re waiting to put a bullet in me, but I don’t give a fuck if she’s marked anymore. I’ve just killed Istredd, and, they’re coming Geralt. The whole platoon is headed this way.”_

\------

He turned to her at Jaskier’s words. “That’s at least thirty men.” 

“I’ve killed you both.” Her voice was so soft, the words were barely audible. 

“I don’t feel very dead.” He kissed her firmly before tipping her chin with his finger. “Don’t give up.” She nodded. 

He opened the door and Jaskier bustled inside. True to his word, she could see the edges of the dark mark peeking from the cuff of his uniform jacket. “How long do we have?” Geralt asked, trying to formulate a way for them to see the next sunrise.

“We lost them at the creek bend by the gnarled tree. You know the one, were I shot that raccoon on accident, - “ 

Geralt interrupted him, “How long ago?”

“Oh, twenty minutes, max.” 

Geralt holstered the gun in his pants and cursed. He handed them each an empty backpack from hooks on the wall and instructed both to fill them with the water bottles and food that lined the cupboard. He pulled the braided rug from the center of the floor and knelt to lift the flat wooden door. He brought out two metal boxes of ammunition and a rolled up blanket revealing two black shotguns and a long rifle fitted with a scope. 

Her jaw dropped, a packet of tuna fish frozen in midair. The corner of his mouth quirked up, “ _Hunting_ cabin, sweetheart.” 

Jaskier zipped up his bag and took one of the shotguns. “Guess that makes you Little Red _Riding_ Hood.” He tipped his head toward her, “At least I hope ya’ didn’t leave him hanging last night. You’re probably the only tail he’s ever cared –“

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s tone silenced him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m nervous. This whole, here today dead tomorrow thing is heavy.” 

“Dead tomorrow is optional.” Geralt countered. He tossed a basket of heavy socks and clothing into the middle of the room and they layered on as much of it as they could. Yennefer found a packet of field dressing knives and shoved them into every pocket she could find. Geralt went outside to saddle the horse and she rolled up the quilt as tight as the material would allow. 

She hurried down the steps and he strapped one of the bags of food, her backpack, and the quilt to Hera’s sides. “How much do you know about guns?”

She shook her head apologetically, she was good with knives. He dumped three boxes of shells into one of the leather saddlebags and showed her the basics of the other shotgun. “This will take out anything within fifty feet, it sprays wide so you don’t have to be really accurate.” She did her best to memorize his every word. “It will hold one shell in the chamber and four in the magazine so you can just keep shooting, no pumping or breaking down the barrel like in the movies. It’ll kick back into your shoulder, but don’t be afraid.” 

She looked unsure of herself for the first time since he met her, and he hated it. Surviving in their world alone as she had done was an impressive feat. Fighting for her life and taking another’s, bloodthirsty men at her heels, was a whole other level of strength.

He leaned the barrel against the barn door and framed her face with his hands. “You can do this, I’m hoping you won’t even have to use it.” She leaned into his touch. “I need you to take Hera east ahead of us. There’s an abandoned farm about three miles out where you’ll find shelter, it’s got a big red silo.” She nodded. “This is the most important part. If neither Jaskier nor I make it there by dark, you must press on.” If they failed, the guards would be hot on her heels.

“No, not without you.” She pulled away from his touch. 

“Promise me.” He held his ground. 

“No. I guess you’ll have to try _that_ much harder to make it there, won’t you?” 

He shook his head at her stubbornness and bent to caress her lips, for what he hoped would not be the last time. She shifted onto her toes and wrapped her arms tight around his back. He went to pull away and she chased him, the extra moments worth the risk. When she rocked back onto her heels, he murmured, “Time to go, love.” 

He helped her mount the horse and she willed herself not to cry. Strong hands slid the thick strap over her shoulder, the long metal barrel resting against her back. He gave a light smack to the horse’s flank and her fingers pulled from his. She watched him over her shoulder until Hera entered the trees and she had to lead her. 

Jaskier came outside and they hid the remaining bag just inside the trees to the south. “It was the old woman with the orchards. You get your apples from her, she ratted you out when they came knocking.” 

Of course, he bartered some of the meat from his hunts with her for Hera’s apples. She lived in the small town her whole life, she would know the property included the cabin. She was a kind woman but she was afraid, he understood why she would give him up. 

“I was trying to come and warn you when I realized Istredd was slinking around behind me.” He turned his hand to look at his wrist when Geralt grabbed his arm. 

“All this mark means, is fear. We’re not sick, we’re not bleeding out, they’re just afraid of us. And that shitty fucking _emotion_ , is not enough for me to give up on living, and nothing will be enough for me to give up on _her_.” 

Jaskier nodded. “Worse case, if we bite it today, there’s no one else I know who would wake up in hell and punch the devil square in the face.”

“Good damn right.” Geralt banded and arm around Jaskier’s back and they talked strategy for a moment before hunkering down and lying in wait for the soldiers marching on them. 

———

Thirty-two men in government issue uniforms plodded through the thick woods, weapons drawn. Geralt and Jaskier waited silently, the woodland creatures having alerted them to the incoming group minutes before. 

The first pair of red jacket covered shoulders crept toward the clearing, they thought they retained the element of surprise until his heavy boot tangled in the hidden wire crossing the narrow path. A metallic click echoed and the cord whirred, tightening around the man’s ankle and hoisting him up between the trees, pistol in the grass useless. 

Geralt lay at the peak of the cabin’s roof, the scope of his hunting rifle bouncing from man to man. He wanted to take out their captain. Stregobor was known for his cruelty, and it was not uncommon for him to personally torture marked victims brought to him by the squad, for his own sadistic pleasure. The majority of those afflicted with the markings were simply unlucky, targets of the mysterious culling they were forced to endure, and predictably revealed no _vital information_ that he claimed they possessed. Geralt himself had received a ranking demerit for refusing to participate with his reign of terror, but he would much rather man a checkpoint that command a firing squad if he was forced to choose. 

The men chose to ignore their unlucky suspended comrade and pressed closer. Once the first five or so reached the center of the clearing, he released the thin rope in his hand and gravity pulled the hefty rock he’d tied to the end, down the chimney where it clanged against the empty kettle inside the cabin. They pointed their weapons toward the cabin and Jaskier opened fire at their backs from the barn as they’d planned.

His loud shotgun blasts echoed through the woods. Men fell, one screamed in agony, and the rest attempted to scatter. Geralt located Stregobor, but like any true coward, he hid behind fat trees and a few unlucky junior officers. _Fuck._ Geralt took out the man next to him instead, Stregobor’s face spattering with blood as the man dropped. 

One of the men cried, “Sniper!” and the gunfire stopped for a moment as they scrambled for cover. _Thud. Thump._ One after another men dropped, bullets from Geralt’s rifle proving deadly. One of them caught a flash from his muzzle and began firing toward him. Jaskier switched to his pistol and took the man out, but the men were dangerously close to the barn door. Geralt fired one last round into an unlucky man's chest and whistled loudly. 

“About time,” Jaskier muttered. He pulled a matchbook from his pocket and struck one, tossing it onto the fuel laden grass in front of the barn. He crouched at the back door, counted to three and ran toward the pricker bush they’d hidden the supply bag near. Something hot bit into his calf as he ran and he stumbled as pain radiated through his leg. A half a second later the old propane tank exploded into a massive fire ball and the men could no longer see him through the smoke and flames. 

Geralt’s strong arm looped under Jaskier’s and he pulled him along, rifle and bag already slung on his back. He dragged the smaller man through the woods for a ways before he stopped, it wasn’t working. He rotated the backpack to his chest and gestured for Jaskier to climb on his back. He balked for a half a second before doing as he was told. 

Geralt took one last look back, and he could make out flames licking up the side of the cabin. It was a shame, but they’d taken out at least half of Stregobor’s men and Yennefer and his horse were halfway to the rendezvous point by that time. They moved south for half a mile to throw off those who would track them, and then banked east toward the abandoned farm.

———

She was gone. It was dark by the time Geralt and Jaskier reached the farm where Yennefer was hopefully waiting for them. Jaskier’s injury had slowed their pace immensely. He’d hidden the injured man in an old chicken house and searched the farm for her, to no avail. 

He’d told her to go, made her promise to leave them behind for her own safety, but that didn’t ease the sick feeling in his stomach. Maybe she’d never even made it there in the first place. If they turned back to look for her they would walk right back into a firefight, this time without surprise or the environmental advantage. 

He returned to Jaskier and shook his head when he gave an inquiring look. “We’ll take a look at your leg and bed down here for the night, alright?” He didn’t have it in him to object, the man was exhausted and looking to avoid his pain for a few hours. They didn’t dare risk a fire, but Geralt pulled a small pen light from the bag and prodded Jaskier’s calf.

“Looks like it went clean through the muscle, you’re lucky. We just need to keep the dirt and shit out of it, rest it as much as we can.” Geralt wasn’t any kind of medical doctor, but he knew animals, and some of the concepts held true for people. His parents had run a small farm, and he’d helped raise the animals and hunted his whole life before all the chaos. 

Jaskier grunted in pain, “I would kill for a hot bath, and a hot woman to kiss it better right now. Order not important.” 

“We might be able to get the water running in the house, some of these old places had pump houses that would run…” his sentence trailed off as a thought struck him. 

“Would run what?”

“Hold that thought, I need to check something, I’ll be right back.” It was a long shot, but he wouldn’t be able to sit still until he knew for sure. He walked the outer edge of the abandoned paddock’s wooden fencing, the harvest moon lighting his way. Sure enough, on the far edge of the property sat a little pump house. 

He got closer and he could see it was all boarded up, but a sudden flash of movement caught his eye through the lone window. He froze. “Take another step and I’ll blow the foot clean off.” Her voice was firm and confident.

He closed his eyes and let out the breath he was holding. Relief coursed through his veins. “I thought I told you to leave when it got dark, bad girl.” 

After a moment the door swung open and Yennefer raced into his waiting arms. “Thank god,” she murmured, before pressing her lips to his desperately. He squeezed her tight through the layers of their clothing and she ran her hands over him checking for injuries. 

“I’m fine.” He reassured her with a quick kiss on her forehead. “Jaskier took a bullet through the calf, but he’ll be alright. He’s in pain, it was slow getting him through the woods.” 

“I’ve got some numbing salve in my bag, take me to him.” 

“I’ll bring him to you instead.” The building was small, but there was enough room around the horse for the three of them. “This was a good hiding spot Yen, even I didn’t think to look here. You did good.” 

———

Jaskier hissed as she swiped an alcohol pad over the holes in his leg while Geralt held a small flashlight so she could see. “Where’d you get those?” He ground his teeth and asked. 

“My mother was a nurse, she hid medical supplies in our laundry chute when they came to round them up.” She wore a proud smile until it melted into a solemn one. “You can imagine with the amount of lives she saved, including mine, her mark appeared relatively early.” 

She applied the salve and his shoulders relaxed almost immediately. “Sorry about your mom. Thank you.” She nodded, repacking her bag and sitting on the concrete floor between Geralt’s legs. They were leaning back against a pallet of bird seed, and when Jaskier succumbed to sleep, she turned and kissed Geralt’s neck.

She asked him what had happened back at the cabin and shuddered when he explained about the captain of the guard unit. “I’m sorry you lost everything you worked for.” 

“I’ve still got the most important things.” He kissed her temple. 

“Bed was nice though.” She added wistfully.

He smiled, remembering the night before. Her soft skin under his palms, the hushed mewls that drove him to the brink. “Yeah, it was.” 

———

Yennefer awoke safe in Geralt’s arms, her leg asleep where she leaned on the hard concrete. The sun was just beginning to rise over the treetops. A shiver went through her at the chill in the air. Geralt spoke in a low voice as Jaskier was still asleep. “It snowed most of the night, hopefully that covered our tracks and slowed them down.” 

She tilted her head to give him a kiss when she noticed Jaskier’s rosy cheeks in her peripheral vision. She moved from Geralt’s arms and rested the back of her hand on his forehead gently. He was feverish, as she suspected. Geralt knew by the look on her face. 

“Garlic, ginger, clove - you don’t happen to know anywhere we could get any of that during winter do you? Or honey, that’s a wonderful antibiotic and wound healer.” There would be little they could do if his infection worsened, the half life on manufactured meds was dramatic and whatever was still left would be ineffective. 

“There is a place, a small market where people barter food and other contraband items. I used to take vegetables from the garden there. By foot through the woods, two days at least.” 

“I think we’d better try for it.”

———

The snowfall stopped and they left the abandoned farm mid morning. Jaskier wasn’t comfortable, but he was conscious enough to ride. Geralt had motioned to help her up onto Hera’s back with him, but she insisted the horse would tire faster with the weight of two. He pressed a kiss to her temple and they walked hand in hand. 

The woods thickened and they walked single file, Geralt keeping an eye behind them. The bitter cold wind and snow returned before nightfall and she was glad for the extra layers of clothing from the cabin. They made camp for the night in a thick copse of trees that would shelter Hera somewhat from the wind. 

They built a small fire and Yennefer heated one of Geralt’s jars of tomatoes and passed around packets of tunafish. They refilled their water bottles with melted snow and began to settle in as best they could in the snow. Geralt took the first watch after he assured her he would wake her when it was her turn. 

Jaskier curled up next to the fire, exhausted, even though he’d ridden while they had walked. He barely fussed when she cleaned and re-bandaged his leg. She laid down against his back and wrapped the quit around them both to try and keep him warm. “I’m freezing, but I’m sweating. What bullshit is that?” He mumbled aloud. 

“It’s the infection, your body is trying to burn it out. Don’t worry, there a few things we can try once we reach the market.” She patted his arm comfortingly. 

“I haven’t been with a woman in a year and a half.” She froze, inching away from him and Geralt put his shaking head in his hands across the fire. “Instead of the plants, let’s barter for a woman. I could go out in a blaze of glory.” 

She sat up on her elbow behind him. “Jaskier, if something is _blazing_ , that’s what you get for paying for sex. There’s nothing in my bag that’ll cure an STD, you piglet.” She smacked the back of his head lightly and wormed back under the blanket, grumbling. 

———

In the winter, it was less of an open air market and more of a 'knock at your own risk' establishment. Geralt and Yennefer left Jaskier safe with Hera and walked into the small village cautiously. It’s small size didn’t warrant guarded check points, which made it ideal for traveling traders and outcasts. They were careful to cover their marks, Geralt ready to draw the pistol at his hip, and Yennefer with her wicked hunting knife should there be trouble. 

Geralt stopped short and tipped his head toward an alley behind his shoulder. A few tents and carts were set up, some sold wares out of the trunks of vehicles. They split up and worked opposite ends of the street. If they stayed separated they were less likely to be remembered if guards came to question the vendors later. 

Yennefer walked past the first cart, examining their products with a critical eye. She pulled the collar of her coat closed around her neck and headed for the next, when something hard and sharp hit her square in the back. She stumbled forward into the slush on her hands and knees, and she felt someone tugging on her bag. 

She whirled around and saw that it was a young child, no more than seven or eight. He was filthy, likely starving, and desperately pawing through the outer compartment of her bag. The man selling stolen coats from the next cart lumbered over them and grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck. “This is the last time you bungle my sales, you useless, fucking - “

“Wait, stop!” She tried to keep her voice down. “The child is with me, I’m sorry for the disturbance.” The ugly man didn’t look convinced. “I’ll make a purchase - how much for the small gloves there?” The boy looked down at his dirty hands, pink with the cold. She traded a pack of tuna, her dinner, for the gloves and ushered the boy down the street. 

Geralt was busy negotiating at the other end of the street, he must have found what they needed for Jaskier. She yanked the boy aside, into an alcove and knelt in front of him. She ran her thumb over the child’s cheek, and as she removed the grime, realized that his handsome features were those of a girl. She was a beautiful child, her wild emerald eyes fixed on Yennefer. She pulled off her ratty knit hat and a snarly mess of platinum blonde hair spilled forth. 

“Where are your parents?” The little girl just shook her head. _Fuck._

“Where do you live?” Her gaze darted back out into the street. She took the child’s wrist, and gently rolled it over while she sniffled. The girl whimpered and yanked her arm back when Yennefer saw her mark. Against her better judgement, Yennefer bared her own wrist and her green eyes lit with surprise.

“Do you want to stay here, or come with me? I can’t offer you a home yet, but you’ll be safe from that man and others that may want to hurt you.” She hesitated for a moment before pointing her little finger into Yennefer’s chest. The little girl hadn’t said a word, and she would be another mouth to feed. When her small hand fell back to her pocket, Yennefer knew that she didn’t have it in her to leave her to freeze, or worse.

———

Yennefer tugged the newly purchased gloves onto the girl’s frigid hands, piled her hair back in her cap, and led her onto the street. Geralt saw her and wove his way back to the road that would take them out of the village. Yennefer turned the corner after him, the girl clutching her hand, and he startled when he realized she was bringing the child with her. 

The little girl ducked behind Yennefer’s hip when she saw the size of the man who had come to join them. Geralt turned his surprise to Yennefer and she held firm, deep violet and bright gold hazel communicating wordlessly. “She has no one.” She could tell he was surprised to hear “ _she_ ”, but he hesitated only a moment more before nodding. “Jaskier?” He nodded, he’d found what they needed.

They walked swiftly from the village and down a hedge row before entering back into the woods. Geralt bent to pick the little girl up and she tried to bolt. Yennefer knelt at her eye level. “I know you’re very scared, but you’re also very brave. He won’t ever hurt you, he’s nothing like that man back there.” Yennefer reached for Geralt’s wrist and showed her the black scrolling. He wasn’t going to turn the girl in to the authorities if he bore the mark himself. “He wants to carry you so the thorns won’t scratch you, and so you can keep up.” 

She reached around in her bag and pulled out a small granola bar. Her reward for half a day’s work a few weeks ago, and packed in the backpack she had meant to leave Geralt after her death. She handed her the treat, the second thing she’d gifted the girl that day, and Geralt scooped her up in his arms. He gave Yennefer’s hand a reassuring squeeze and they headed toward a feverish Jaskier. 

The girl practically devoured the bar, she must have been absolutely starved, but she hesitated over the final piece. Geralt moved a tree branch away from her face and she looked up at him, holding her hand out to offer her last bite. Yennefer wanted to weep for her. She had been desperate enough to rob a woman, yet now would share after being shown the simplest kindness. Geralt smiled, “Thank you, but that’s yours, you had better eat it.” It was in her mouth before he finished his sentence.

———

Halfway to their campsite Geralt slowed and waited for Yennefer to come up beside him. The girl was asleep, her cheek pressed to the warm skin at the hollow of his throat. “Have we stolen someone’s child?” He kept his voice low as they walked. 

“I asked her and she shook her head. She hasn’t said a word yet, but I think she’s been living in that alley.” Before he could ask she volunteered, “She tried to rob me. There’s a little slingshot tucked inside her jacket. One of the vendors was going to get rough, she’s so small, I couldn’t leave her.” 

“I don’t image that you would.” He pulled her hand close and she leaned into his open shoulder, pressing her lips to his warmly. “We’ll figure it out.” 

———

“Ummm, Yennefer? When I requested a woman, I was hoping for one a bit closer to my age.” Jaskier quipped as he watched the strange girl crawl down from Geralt’s arms. Nightfall was upon them, but the snowstorm that had raged on and off since they began traveling had ebbed. 

“She is too young for you unfortunately, and yet, I think she could best you in a fight.” Yennefer was having none of his sass. She warmed some water over the fire and crushed some of the garlic cloves Geralt traded for. “This will burn at first, and I will enjoy it immensely.” She eased his foot into the metal bucket they swiped from the abandoned farm, and poured the warm water mixture over his leg. He hissed and cursed. “Leave it in the water until it’s to cold to bear. We’ll reheat it and then bandage it with the honey.” 

“Where did you learn these witch doctoring ways?” He was trying to distract himself from the pain. 

“The doctor my mom worked for was an osteopath. He used herbal medicine too, he saved a lot of lives.” She was quiet after that, thinking about all those people and how they probably ended up murdered despite her mother’s efforts. She bandaged his leg and rinsed out the bucket while Geralt took inventory of their bags and found them something to eat. 

She heated more warm water asked the little girl if she’d like a bath. As would be expected of a child in her state, she did not smell like roses. She was hesitant. “I’ll take one too.” Yennefer offered. She unbuttoned her coat and small hand grabbed hers, pointing furiously at Jaskier. 

“Jask, can you roll on your other side? The ladies need privacy.” Geralt had seen and Yennefer sent him a smile before sliding her jacket off. She took a cloth and a small bar of soap, gently wiping the grime from the girl’s pale skin as they sat near the crackling fire. She tipped her long platinum hair into the bucket and scrubbed away the layers of dirt to reveal even lighter and brighter locks. 

She bundled the clean child up in their quilt, slid off her own shirt, and washed herself quickly as she’d promised. The girl seemed eager to help as Yennefer had, so she offered her the cloth and turned her back. Geralt saw her turn from the corner of his eye and glanced over. The little girl was frozen, staring at the bloody bruise in the center of Yennefer’s bare back, and the small red trail below it. 

_God damn it._ Yennefer had said she tried to rob her, not that she’d been hurt. 

“I’m sorry.” _She spoke._

Yennefer twisted at the sound, “It’s alright if there’s a bruise sweetie, just wash gently.” Her small hands were light as a feather with the cloth. Once the dried blood was gone, the bruise didn’t look so angry. Yennefer slid back into her clothes and gave Geralt the soap and bucket. It was frigid out, but even _he_ didn’t care for the way he smelled after days of walking. 

Yennefer pulled a comb from her bag and began to work through the snarls in her soft white hair as delicately as she could. “How old are you honey?”

“I think, seven.” 

“You’re such a brave girl for being only seven. I’m sure your parents would be very proud. Would you tell me about them?”

She sniffled. “The army men came and took them. It’s scary, I don’t want to.” 

Yennefer comforted her, “That’s alright, you don’t have to. I’m sure they love you so very much.” She finished with her hair. It was long, reaching her waist and dried by the fire. “Would you like a braid?”

“Oh, yes please.” Her eyes lit up for the first time that day. Yennefer’s careful fingers wove an intricate french braid down her back that made her look the tiniest of princesses. She braided her own hair quickly as it was still damp, and then handed her some of the corn and dried venison Geralt had pulled out. Again, she ate with the gusto of a terribly hungry child, but this time it was preceded with a soft “thank you”.

Jaskier sat up and she brought him his dinner. Geralt had taken Hera for a short walk to run some fresh blood through her muscles in the cold. “Your voodoo might be working, it doesn’t itch any more.” 

She nodded, that was a good sign. “Where’d you get the miniature Storm over there?” Her eyes were closing again now that her belly was full. 

She had a hundred quippy insults she wished to lob at him, but she held back. He was there because Geralt had helped her, and wounded so she could escape. “She was alone and needed help. So are we.” 

———

When Geralt returned, the fire was low and Yennefer and the girl were curled up next to it slumbering. A portion of the food was still laid out, and when he turned to give it to Jaskier he shook his head - he wasn’t the one who’d gone without. He sighed. Just because she’d made the decision to bring the girl, didn’t mean she had to give up her rations for her. 

He made to take the first watch as he had most nights, but Jaskier tsked. “I’m feeling better, her witch’s brew is fast at work. Sleep.” 

Geralt nodded. He wasn’t going to argue, he was tired as hell. They were sleeping on a tarp, but at least it kept the mud and the wet snow off of them until they could come up with something better. He knelt down behind Yennefer, unzipping the front of his coat to share his body heat. He pulled up the blankets and saw a small hand wrapped around Yennefer’s ribs. The girl’s face was buried in her chest, Yennefer’s coat wrapped around the girls’ back. 

He laid against her, tucking his knees into the backs of hers, and nuzzling his nose over her shoulder. “Mmmm” she hummed softly and threaded her fingers through his over her hip. “You need to eat,” he whispered before brushing his lips against the shell of her ear. 

“I will, tomorrow. Jaskier?” She asked in a hushed tone. 

“Feeling better. Thank you for that.” He kissed behind her ear. “Has she told you her name?”

Before Yennefer could answer him to the negative, the little girl answered him for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’m honored to say that by request this crazy idea will be extended beyond two chapters, I’m thinking four right now. Thank you SO much for your comments and kudos, without them, the words don’t make it onto the page!
> 
> Bury Me With My Guns On - Song by Bobaflex; That’s where I got the idea for the “punching the devil in the face” line. Good song for when you’re feeling rage-y. :)  
> Fresh crushed garlic in herbal medicine is a real thing - it’s a wicked antibacterial (if it hasn’t been irradiated like a lot of commercially sold stuff). It also doesn’t hurt like that when it’s cut with water, but Jaskier deserved a bit :). Honey is used around the world as well (if you get the right kind).  
> 


	3. Fear Itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes find themselves with hopes and dreams beyond just surviving, but their harsh world isn't going to give them over easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This gets a bit violent, attempted rape, but I don’t think it’s anything that isn’t canon level stuff. Please use your discretion. Thanks!

-A Few Months Later-  
-Geralt-

He knelt close behind her, speaking softly. “Hold it steady. Exhale before you pull the trigger.” 

Hera was tethered to a thick tree trunk not far behind where they crouched. Her ashen white locks fanned out wide under her knit hat, making her blend even better with the snowy terrain. The hunter green gloves Yennefer bought her in the marketplace clung to her small hands as they wrapped around the barrel of his rifle. 

The breath left her lips and she squeezed. The buck jumped when the butt of the gun rocked back into her shoulder. The deer took off at a sprint and he stood behind her, firing two rounds from his pistol and putting it down. It wasn’t sporting of him, but they didn’t have hours to track the game or chance that her bullet wouldn’t fell him. 

“Good job Ciri. We’ll eat well for your patience and determination.” She beamed, handing him the rifle. 

Seven or eight was young to be handling firearms and hunting, but Geralt wanted her to have every advantage. The world was no longer a place that hosted blissful, innocent childhoods. Both he and Yennefer agreed, the more she knew, the safer she would be. 

He showed her how to field dress the animal, his knife sharp and skilled. She only gagged once, and he hid his smile. She was a trooper. They tied the deer behind Hera with a length of nylon rope he’d acquired, and he climbed up into the saddle behind her. 

“What do you think Yennefer will say when we get home?” Her little face was awash with excitement and pride. He’d taken her to look for game three or four times already and they’d been vastly unsuccessful. _Home._ An idyllic view of the barn thy’d been holed up in, but he supposed it was true. 

“She will be proud of you, and grateful you’re putting food in her belly.” She seemed satisfied with that answer. The little girl was sweet and caring, and smart as a whip. 

Yennefer had been teaching her the basics of healing, and when he had returned with a face full of brambles it was Ciri who cared for his cuts. Under Yennefer’s watchful and and proud eye, of course. 

“We’ll dry some if we can, and pack the rest in ice and snow until we can get it to the market to trade.”

She whirled in the saddle, “We won’t eat some today!?”

He chuckled, “Of course. I think he’s big enough to give you a coat and gloves as well.” 

She examined the gloves already on her small hands. “Will it be big enough for a grown up’s coat instead?”

“Depends on the grown up.” He pushed a low hanging branch before it scraped her face. 

“Yennefer.” She nodded firmly, mind made up. “She’s already given me these gloves, and my brush, and my scarf, and -“

“We can do that, I’m sure.” His chest filled with pride. 

———

“I’m sure, that if she took it, it was an accident.” Yennefer’s firm voice could be heard once they reached the clearing. 

They’d chosen the small barn for it’s new construction. It did a good job blocking the bitter cold wind, and was set so far off the dirt road that it had served them for months without the appearance of a single soul. 

Jaskier’s voice was just as insistent. “You brought that little scamp here, and what she does is on you!” Geralt cold feel Ciri tense up between his arms. 

“Lower your voice Jaskier.” She demanded. “Yes, I made the choice to bring her. She is a _child_ and I would hope you would have made the same damn choice!”

Geralt ushered Hera to a stop and dismounted. “Stay here just a minute alright.” He patted her knee and waltzed through the barn door. 

Jaskier jumped back as though he’d been caught, but Yennefer held her ground, her lips pursed angrily. “Not only did neither of you hear us approach, but your argument is sailing through the trees.” Geralt’s scowl hid his relief that they were alright. Every time he left and came back, he was grateful that Stregobor had yet to close in on them.

“She took my watch! I took it off before going to the creek this morning and there it was, sitting right on the top of the little princess’s pack!” He gestured wildly. 

“Jaskier, did that watch save your life?” Geralt questioned. He shook his head in obvious denial. “Well that little _princess_ just did. She’s brought you dinner, and a hearty one at that. Give her a chance to explain about the watch - _nicely_.” His tone left no room for discussion. 

-Yennefer-

He turned and went back outside, Yennefer close behind. “Oh Ciri, wonderful job!” The little girl preened at Yennefer’s praise as Geralt helped her down from the saddle. 

“It was amazing! I had to keep really still, but my bullet got him! Geralt showed me where to cut, and the guts pile.” She made a face. 

Yennefer laughed and gave her a hug, “You’ll be a master hunter in no time sweetie! Let’s take Hera in and get her brushed down and we’ll send Jaskier out to help Geralt heft up your prize.” 

Ciri poured fresh water for the horse from a large tub they’d filled in the nearby creek. Yennefer pulled the saddle straps and asked Ciri about Jaskier’s watch gently. She’d been looking at it and forgotten to return it. “Just tell him you apologize and you’ll try your best to be careful, alright sweetie?” 

———

They slept well that night, a rare case of full bellies all around. Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri slept in zipped together sleeping bags in the upper loft of the small barn, while Jaskier chose his own space down below, opposite Hera’s stall. A string of laundry Yennefer had washed as best she could hung along the wall of the loft, and their supplies nearby to each in the event they would need to run. 

Jaskier had relieved Geralt on watch in the early hours of the morning, and Ciri stirred shortly after, waking Yennefer. “I’m thirsty.” She sat up and licked her dry lips. They’d emptied the tub of fresh water from the creek and Geralt had emptied her canteen when he’d come to bed. 

Something stirred down below and Jaskier whispered up, “I’ll take her and the canteens.” 

“Be careful.” Yennefer urged, tapping the side of her little boot to remind her of the small blade she’d sewn in for her. She’d done the same for her boots and Jaskier’s. _Mr. Outdoors_ already had one in his. 

“I will.” She whispered and rounded the ladder down to Jaskier in the dark. 

Yennefer leaned back under the warm covers, _their_ quilt bunched around their waists. He pulled her tight to his chest and nudged his hips to her bottom. “Mmmmm.” He hummed against her ear, his arm sneaking up under her shirt to stroke the warm skin of her abdomen. 

“You need to sleep.” She tried, but he slid against her again and she arched her back, sending a wave of desire through them both at the feel of him hard and eager through their clothing. He groaned when she gave in, bending to peel off her cargo pants and shimmy out of her shirt. She gasped when the cold air hit her skin, and shivered again when his shirt joined hers. 

Their couplings were hurried, but no less passionate when they found a few stolen moments. Living on borrowed time only magnified every caress and caused them to savor each little moan and gasp all the more. 

Even in the dark, it seemed they could speak telepathically, anticipating the other’s wants and needs. His pants were barely unzipped when he helped her slide her leg over his. He granted himself the luxury of unclasping her bra and she shrugged out of it, leaning her chest against his bare skin. 

He could feel every nuance of her flesh in the chilly air, and he ran his hands over her back to ward off the cold. Her lips found his and they kissed passionately, her breath becoming his and neither wishing to part. “I love you.” 

He murmured the words tenderly against her cheek, neither of them seeing a reason to hold back the admission from one another. Her hand disappeared from his shoulder and slipped down his belly, her face pressing into the skin of his collarbone to absorb her cry. “I love you so, Geralt.” 

Her back rose and fell, just above the edge of the quilt, her dark hair isolating them from the rest of the large, dark loft. His hands traveled and savored her soft skin, while hers grasped for purchase. He found her lips again as their pace grew more desperate, trapping her lower between his teeth and shifting his hands to her hips. 

She fell apart, her body taunt as a bowstring until she trembled, his name a whispered plea on her lips. He held her close, cradling her forehead to his chin as he rocked her a few moments more, clenching his jaw to temper the visceral grunt that slipped past his control. 

She laid on his chest, his strong fingers combing her wild tresses from her face gently. He pulled the quilt over her back so they could stay just a few more moments together. 

Suddenly, they heard a childlike squeal from outside the barn. Neither had to utter the word, _Ciri_. She vaulted off of him and scrambled for her pants in the dark. He zipped his fly, slid into his boots and grabbed the ladder, hesitating. “Go! I’m coming.” She urged.

-Geralt-

His boots pounded down the ladder and he grabbed Jaskier’s shotgun as it sat by the door, and he burst out of the barn. The cold air immediately shocked his bare skin, and he squinted in the dull glow of the impeding sun rise. He followed their tracks in the snow toward the creek, and when he got about half way there he could make out flashes of red and the sounds of a struggle. 

A beam of light from Jaskier’s flashlight zinged over the snow and he closed in. Jaskier grappled with one of the guards, and the other knelt over the snow. _God, let her be alright._ He slammed the butt of the shotgun into the crown of the man’s head, and he went down like a ton of bricks. 

Jaskier got the best of his assailant and fired his pistol into the man’s chest. Geralt pulled the shorter of the men off of the little girl. She gasped and clutched at her throat, the sleeve of her jacket torn and the vibrant mark under her wrist visible even in the half light of the pre dawn sky. He pulled her off the ground and into his arms, holding her still while he checked her for injury. “I’m alright.” She rasped.

So brave for such a young girl, she had truly been through hell. “You’re hurt -“

Their breath began to show in the frigid air as they stood, panting. Hera’s fearful neigh echoed across the barren woods. Jaskier froze behind him, “They patrol in threes.”

“Take her Jaskier!” Geralt nudged Ciri toward him and took off for the barn at a breakneck pace. Ciri burst into tears in the distance behind him when she realized what was happening. He ran harder. 

-Yennefer-

She pulled her shirt and pants on, foregoing her underwear in her hurry and shoved her feet into her boots. She sailed down the ladder, and turned to find her gun against the windowsill in the low light. Out of nowhere, something heavy hit her in the back of the head and she fell, landing hard in the layer of hay on the wooden floor. 

Whoever had hit her, grabbed her by the boot and began dragging her towards the door. Her head was pounding, but she hauled back her other leg and landed a solid blow to his midsection. He went down, careening into the door of Hera’s stall and the horse cried out in fright. 

Yennefer crawled to her hands and knees, her head still swimming. It was still so dark in the barn that she couldn’t get her bearings, dizziness pouring over her in waves. The man hauled himself up, and landed his own kick to her ribs. She cried out in pain, the force of the impact tossing her a few feet, and knocking the wind out of her. 

She wheezed, trying to catch her breath, when he fell on her. His body was heavy, and she struggled to break free of his weight. She still couldn’t see his face, but when he ripped open the front of her button down shirt, she knew his intent. The horror of the situation hit her full force, and she squirmed and fought as he fumbled at the buttons on her pants. 

She bit him, _hard_ , through the red jacket he wore. He roared in pain and ripped his forearm from her teeth. It gave her the moment she needed. She launched her body into his, and the momentum was just enough so that she could reach for the sturdy leather of her boot. Her blade slipped from it’s hidden sheath and she gripped it with all her might. She grabbed into his greasy hair with her other hand and drove the blade through his neck with a sickening sound. 

He gasped, and then choked, desperately fighting for air in a battle that he’d already lost. His body slumped on top of hers, and blood poured from the would she’d inflicted, warm against her bare chest. She went limp underneath him, the adrenaline leaving her body and her hand unwilling to loosen it’s death grip on her knife. 

-Geralt-

The barn came back into view in the distance as he ran, heavy puffs of air clouding behind him as he crashed through the thicket. Her anguished cry pierced the still morning and he swore, praying just as he had not five minutes before, that another innocent would be whole when he reached her. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he gripped the barn door and wrenched it open, squinting in the dark. _Son of a bitch_ , the bastard was on top of her. He ran to them, and ripped the man off of her prone form. His bloody red coat slipped from Geralt’s hands as the guard slumped to the floor. Geralt stared at her, a terrified expression on his face until he clenched his teeth and forced the fear back. 

“It’s alright.” He didn’t fucking know if anything was alright, or if it would ever be again. She was bloody from her cheekbones down to her waist, her shirt torn to shreds and her pants held only by the feminine flair of her hip. Her knife was bloody, her grip on it white knuckled and unrelenting. Her amethyst eyes were wild, shifting from his hands to the man heaped on the ground. 

He fell to his knees, running his hands over her bloody skin, looking for wounds. She was still until he reached her ribs and she jumped under his touch, her pained whimper breaking his heart. “Yennefer? Sweetheart, talk to me.” He pried the knife from her rigid fingers. 

She met his tortured gaze, but still she couldn’t speak, until they heard footfalls crashing through the snow just outside the barn. “Ciri!?” She wailed, remembering that the girl had been in danger. 

“She’s going to be alright. Here, let’s not let her see this.” He didn’t have a shirt to give her, his own bare chest pink from the cold. She leaned into his arms and he picked her up, her gaze following the dead man’s body over his shoulder. 

Jaskier and Ciri came through the door and Ciri ran to her. Yennefer reached for the little girl but Geralt twisted her away. “Jask, can you make sure there aren’t any more guards, and start a quick fire to warm some water?” He nodded, his expression obviously curious about what Geralt had walked in on. 

He turned to Ciri’s frightened face. “Yennefer’s ribs are paining her, did she show you which of the herbs in her pack would help?”

Ciri still looked devastated, but she perked up at the thought of helping. “Yes, peppermint!” She shot up the ladder behind them as fast as she could go, to crush the leaves make the ointment as she’d learned. 

Geralt urged Yennefer to hang on to him and climbed the ladder with her. He set her down on the sleeping bags and took off the remains of her shirt. It looked like it was all the other man’s blood, but he had to be sure. “Yennefer, love. Where does it hurt?” Blessedly, he smelled Jaskier’s fire from below. Ciri bustled on the far side of the loft. “We’re alone,” he swallowed hard, “you can tell me.” 

She began shivering, but she spoke. “I’m in shock.” 

“I think so. What happened, if you can?” He covered her with the sleeping bag until Jaskier produced the water and he could clean her up. 

Teeth chattering, she managed to get out the crucial details of the scuffle. The blow to the back of her head, and the kick to her ribs. “He -, tried -“ she motioned to the front of her body where he’d torn into her clothing, “but I got the knife. He didn’t -“

He pressed a kiss to her temple, grateful that she’d been spared. “You did good. I’m so sorry I left you, never again.” 

“I told you to go, none of this is your fault.” She stared at her bloody hands, turning them from front to back. “I killed him. He was alive, someone’s son, and there was so much blood.” 

“He was the scum of the earth, and you had no choice. If you hadn’t, he’d come after someone even more vulnerable next.” He didn’t have to voice Ciri’s name aloud, she got his point and nodded with a ragged sigh.

Jaskier ascended the ladder, “Room Service.” Geralt walked over and took the bucket, thanking him. “I pulled everything off of the three of them that might be useful. Geralt, one of them was Jack. It’s Stregobor’s men.” The captain had sent scouts ahead, following them out of his jurisdiction. He looked at Jaskier, who was thinking the same thing. This was personal for the man, after what happened at the cabin, and he wasn’t going to let them go easily. 

“See if you can’t find their horses. We shouldn’t stay here more then a few hours, we’ll leave before they realize the patrol won’t make it back to wherever they’re camped.” Jaskier agreed and went back down to follow the trails left by the men.

Geralt grabbed one of his wet shirts from the line she’d hung it on and dipped it in the bucket, bringing it to her face and gently cleansed the blood away. He had to rinse out the shirt a few times before he could see her skin, pale from the long winter. 

Yennefer came back to herself slowly, reaching for her discarded bra when he finished with her breasts. He got to the ribs on her left side and she winced, hissing air through her teeth. An angry purple bruise was starting to form already as he cleared the blood. His hands had been on that very skin not long before, the hushed sounds from her mouth worlds apart from pain.

He was grateful and proud that she had defended herself, but deep inside he knew he would have taken sick pleasure in ending the bastard’s life slowly and painfully. The waste of life who’d tried to choke an eight year old girl was next on his list. It was their job, they were following orders; but that was excessive force and brutality, and nowhere in his training books had their been a chapter on rape. 

“Thank you, Geralt.” She took the rag from from his still hand, his mind lost in thoughts of revenge. She scrubbed at the blood on her belly, her hands rough compared to his loving touch. She shucked off her pants angrily, and scrubbed the blood from her thighs and in-between her legs. He found her panties for her, and Ciri came over with her prized mint salve.

Yennefer’s anger and frustration with what had happened eased at the little girl’s hopeful expression. “What happened honey? Geralt promised you’ll be alright, and if he fibbed to me he’ll be using a rock for a pillow.” He smirked and climbed off the bedding, running his thumb over Yennefer’s cheek and ruffling Ciri’s hair. 

They needed to pack up and leave, but he swung over the ladder, granting them some time. The last thing he saw of the upper floor as he stepped down was Ciri’s woeful sob as she launched herself into Yennefer’s waiting arms.

———  
-Yennefer-

Fully dressed and ready to go, she and Ciri tossed down their belongings. Jaskier had returned with two horses, the third must’ve been spooked by his gunshot. She could hear them discussing what they should do. Stregobor’s men were closing in and they needed to move, and with purpose. 

“East.” The suggestion came from atop the loft. Ciri continued. “My parents,” she hesitated, having been unable to speak of them until that moment. “We were going east. Some place called Hampton, that is friendly to people like me, us.” She gestured to her wrist. 

“The Hamptons?” Jaskier asked. 

“That sounds right, an island.” She began climbing down, her enthusiasm making up for her short legs. 

Jaskier put his hand to his chin in thought. “There is a portion of the Hamptons that is it’s own island, connected only by two bridges. A few islands actually.” Geralt leveled an incredulous look. Jaskier threw up his hands. “My parents were well off, before all of this. We had a beach house in Montauk.” 

“Is anyone opposed to Ciri’s idea?” Geralt asked. He looked up at Yennefer, who was listening over the railing. She shook her head and gave a slight smile, mouthing, _I love you_.

“Looks like I’m headed back to my old stompin’ ground! Geralt, let me tell you, I had this pair of jet skis. God, they were more fun than se- “ He cut himself short just in time to see Geralt’s warning look, as there were young ears with them. 

Ciri grabbed her rolled up sleeping bag and went to carry it outside. She stopped by Jaskier, “I think you meant to say more fun than sex?” Geralt and Jaskier were stunned, and Yennefer covered her shocked mouth. 

“Just what do you know about all of that, tiny imp.” Jaskier prodded. 

She pondered for a moment. “When mommies and daddies love each other, they kiss and it’s called sex. You aren’t a daddy, so you’ve never had sex. How do you know if your jet skis are better?”

Jaskier balked, “Yennefer! Swear to me right now that this isn’t your biological child!” She pulled away from the railing, soft smile on her features. 

———

He helped her up onto Hera’s back, careful as he could be of her ribs. She had been dizzy a few times, probably from the blow to her head, but she didn’t tell him. He had plenty to worry about already. She could tell he was torn, because he’d just promised her he wouldn’t leave her, and now they were splitting up. 

“It makes the most sense, stop giving me that tortured look, handsome.” She couldn’t bend down to kiss the soft grin her words brought, but he leaned his face into her palm. 

They were going to use the same exit strategy they’d used at his cabin, to split up and throw the guards off their trail. She rode Hera, docile and familiar as she was, and as more experienced riders, Jaskier and Geralt would would take the stolen horses. Yennefer and Jaskier would bank south, and Geralt and Ciri to the north meeting up the next morning to press east, toward the only glimmer of hope they had for a better life. 

“I saw you.” He admitted. “When you were sick. Should I add that to the list of things that keep me from sleep?” She’d had a sudden rush of panic, of nausea, when she reached the bottom of the ladder in the barn. The bloody hay had sent her careening through the door, where she’d promptly lost whatever venison was left in her. 

“No, stick to your carefree wet dreams.” She ran her thumb over his lips. “I’m alright.” They both knew that there was nothing carefree about the thoughts that plagued him when the sun went down. More than once she’d awoken in the middle of the night, only to find him awake, plotting, worrying. 

“I cannot, however, promise to return Jaskier to you intact. Although, it would be a pity for him to die a virgin.” She argued with herself. He smirked under her thumb. The would-be virgin himself rode up next to her, the all black horse unbothered that his rider had changed. 

“It’s a nice day for some horse thievery, no?”

Yennefer blew Ciri a kiss, already having said their temporary goodbyes. “See you at noon tomorrow. Rain or shine.” She promised Geralt, and he kissed her palm. 

“It’s a date.” 

Jaskier groaned in annoyance. Yennefer sucked her cheek. “Come along Jaskier. And don’t let that mongrel beast sniff around Hera’s hindquarters just because his rider is a randy beast as well.” 

———

She whistled low, just as Geralt had taught her. Riding just ahead, Jaskier halted his mount and pivoted in the saddle. The woods was quiet, too quiet. They hadn’t sent a squirrel skittering or a bird flying in quite a few minutes. 

She motioned to her ear and pointed ahead of them, where the woods ebbed and a paved road crossed their path. He turned and waited, skeptical. 

Sure enough, the clip clop of hoofbeats on snowy asphalt could be heard. She hoped they were far enough away from the road, but there was no moving back now. Jaskier pulled his gun from his saddle bags agonizingly slow, and she slipped hers off her back in the same fashion. It was by sheer luck that they hadn’t just crossed and left tracks.

Three men, dressed in red and chattering aimlessly, rode by them along the road. She wondered who they thought they were fooling. Americans had used the overconfidence of the British army’s bright red coats to their advantage before, and who said they wouldn’t do the same to a tyrannical government now. 

They paraded by, bright as peacocks, while she and Jaskier were practically camouflaged with dirt and neutral colors. She thought of the bruises on Ciri’s little neck and her ribs twinged. She and Jaskier could open up on the three nit wits and stop them cold before they even knew what was happening. Nevertheless, more missing guards would mean more men hunting them, and more dangerous travel. 

The men passed and Jaskier gave her a thumbs up on following her instincts. They had a destination in mind now, somewhere that might be safe for them. Somewhere Ciri could grow up and not fear for her life at every turn. Just a little bit, of hope. 

———  
-A Month Later-  
-Geralt-

They were all starving. They’d traveled far, and made good progress across most of Pennsylvania, but there’d been a cost. It was the end of the winter season, and they were out of food. Animals were scarce, and there was no where to trade in the town they were near. 

He figured they were just north of Edison, directly in line for Long Island, and pretty damn close. They’d approached the suburb of the city, only to find the gory remains of an unlucky marked couple. Residents of the town had strung them up, wrists displayed for all to see. They’d been stoned, and left to rot on a high outer gate. Yennefer had shielded Ciri’s eyes the best she could. Jaskier tried to lighten the sight by making a comment about a medieval fair in town, but they turned away immediately. 

They tried to shield her from the severity of the food shortage as well, speaking about the lack of it in hushed tones, and giving up their portions for her. Even Jaskier had offered some of his dinner for the girl a few nights. The two of them had become friends, chattering between one another endlessly while Yennefer and Geralt saw to practical matters, or gave each other heated looks and knowing smiles while they rode. 

Ciri figured it out though, as one evening he, Yennefer and Jaskier were having a grim conversation about possibly having to put down one of the horses. It was the last thing any of them wanted to consider, but with no where to trade and weeks until they could scavenge for spring berries and plants, it might be their only option. 

Ciri overheard, and horrified, volunteered to go on a hunt, promising she’d return with a plump rabbit. She took Geralt’s rifle as though it wasn’t massively oversized for her small arms, and headed to a fallen log, just inside Geralt’s line of vision. She made them swear not to touch the horses while she was gone. Yennefer sighed heavily, and he knew she felt guilty for not being able to provide for her. She wasn’t alone in that regard.

He bent to pick up a bucket of melted snow to water the horses, and when he stood, he felt a strange twinge in the center of his chest. He looked down, and saw the filthy handle of a makeshift knife protruding from his left pectoral muscle. It had been thrown, and he unconsciously dropped the bucket, water pouring out into the snow. 

Dizzy, he fell to one knee and pulled his pistol, trying to make sense of his vision and find the threat. It must be thieves, he thought, they were certainly not government. Yennefer saw the front of him and screamed.

A scraggly looking man bounded from a copse of dense bushes and pulled a cord tight around Jaskier’s neck from behind. Yennefer stumbled over to Geralt and eased him onto his back, oblivious to the continuous threat. 

-Ciri-

Sixty yards away, Ciri heard Yennefer scream and whirled from her hunt. She held the gun in shaky hands, peering through the scope at the campsite. A giant of a man appeared from the trees and made a run toward Yennefer, who was bent over something on the ground. She clicked off the safety, and Geralt’s words rang in her ears. _Lead your target. Exhale and squeeze the trigger gently._

-Geralt-

Geralt’s eyes went wide, when out of nowhere a big brute came careening for Yennefer’s back, only to roar in pain and fall to the side before he reached his target. His rifle echoed through the woods. _Ciri_.

They could hear Jaskier struggling with a man, his wheezing had stopped and was replaced by the sickening sound of punches making contact with solid bodies. 

Yennefer pressed her hand tight around the blade and she tried to keep her panic in check. “You’re going to be okay, breath slowly.” The look on her face didn’t match her words. 

Yet another man, this one thin as a rail and likely starving the same as they were, came running at them. He jumped over their small fire only to tumble into the snow, blood on his forehead between his eyes. Geralt lowered his arm, smoke still wafting from the barrel of his pistol. 

He was starting to feel lightheaded. 

Jaskier shoved his attacker into a thick tree trunk and the blow knocked him out. He checked the woods around them. It was just the three brigands. 

Ciri rushed into the clearing, dragging the heavy gun with her. Yennefer called for her bag, and Ciri and Jaskier both rushed to get it. 

“Hey, don’t you close your eyes on me.” Her voice was calm, but tears ran down both of her cheeks. 

“Won’t.” He gruffed.

Ciri began unloading the bag, her hands shaking and clanging the jars and bottles together. Jaskier paced, until the man Ciri had shot in the arm began to wake. Jaskier slit his throat. 

“Geralt, this is just a little blood loss. Don’t be a baby.” She bit her lip and bent her cheek to his. “I love you, don’t you dare leave me.” 

“Won’t.” He whispered, just before he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all who comment and <3\. It means more to us writers than you know!


	4. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer is prepared to go to great lengths to save Geralt's life, but will it be enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter contains a concept borrowed from the Walking Dead – see note below.

-Yennefer-

If he could, Geralt would throttle her. He wouldn’t want her to go, and certainly not alone. She pulled her hood tighter at her chin as she skirted past the corpses frozen to the fence. The woman had been stunning, once upon a time.

Geralt slept. His pulse was low and his breathing ragged, the grey pallor of his skin alarming. Yennefer suspected internal bleeding to be the culprit when they couldn’t wake him up. Even if she had a sterile place and the tools, she was not a surgeon. Hell, she wasn’t even a doctor, and she wouldn’t risk his life on a hunch.

She left Jaskier to watch over Ciri and Geralt, determined to find help, or some word about the place in the Hamptons that would be their only hope to save his life. She walked quickly, until she came upon a section of the barbed fence that had been rucked up with tools. She crawled through the snow and came out the other side, darting behind a nearby building.

There was a commotion in the center of the town, and she slunk toward the very back of the crowd. She looked around to see if anyone took notice of her, and caught the eye of an old woman before turning away quickly. The gathering of people was rowdy, and by the way they were dressed, she could tell the town wasn’t prosperous. From the number of filthy jackets and dingy faces, she guessed they didn’t have running water.

She moved a bit to see what the gathering was for, and a burly man with a nasty snarl on his ugly face hauled a woman onto the wooden platform. She was dirty, but no less gorgeous and most likely in her early twenties. Yennefer was almost jealous of her golden blonde hair, until he shoved her head through a looped rope and tightened it around the back of her neck.

Yennefer brought her hand to her mouth in horror. He raised her arm high, the black “x” on her wrist visible to all. The terrified girl looked into the crowd desperately, and Yennefer swore she could see right into her soul. She watched, helpless, as the platform fell out from under the young woman and her head jerked to the side.

The crowd cheered and Yennefer stepped back. Coming there had been a mistake. There would be no help found among these barbarians. She turned and walked the opposite direction, and when she was far enough away, she fled.

Yennefer turned the corner quickly into an alley, and a surprisingly strong arm shot out and grabbed her wrist. It was the old woman with her sharp eyes and a thick braid of greyed hair peeking from her cloak. Before Yennefer could yank her arm back, she flipped her wrist and shoved her sleeve up.

Hanged. She would be hanged, and Geralt had thrown his life away for her, for nothing. “Girl.” She hissed. “What the hell are you doing here? Was the _show_ not enough to convince you that you’re not wanted here, or are you dim-witted?”

“I’m not dim, I’m desperate. There is a difference.” She pulled her arm from the old woman’s grasp, and made to bolt.

“Desperate and lucky. You may consider me sympathetic to your kind, as I may or may not bear a similar mark. I got here too late for the girl. What is it you’re looking for?”

“My…husband is wounded, and I came looking for anyone who could help me.”

“And what’ve you to barter for such help? Your body?”

Yennefer was shocked, but she shouldn’t have been. “To save his life, if there was no other way. Yes.” She could trade one of the horses, but she would be a fool to reveal that they had them to the woman. She looked over the woman’s shoulder, the idea of selling herself making her stomach uneasy.

The woman’s crow’s feet darkened as she narrowed her eyes. “You’re not from here. Why are you traveling through?”

Yennefer narrowed her own bright irises in suspicion. “I think I’ve answered enough of your questions. It’s obvious there’s nothing for me here, this mysterious safe haven a lie. Let me pass, I’d like to be there hold his hand while he takes his last breath, if it’s all the same to you.”

Her expression brightened. “Where. Where were you going?”

“Supposedly there’s safety, a group in the Hamptons. You might find your way there. I’m not going without him.”

“And if I came from there just this morning, looking to grab the girl to safety?”

Understanding dawned on Yennefer’s face.

The woman continued. “I’ll take you there, but you must answer my questions, your husband as well.”

She nodded hurriedly, a tiny sprout of hope taking form in her heart.

“Have you ever killed anyone, and why?” She was trying to gauge Yennefer’s response, looking for telltale signs that she was lying.

Lowering her gaze, she answered. “Yes. I stabbed a guard who thought he would rape me before he murdered my entire family.” The word felt as vile on her tongue as his hand had on her skin and she shuddered. “My husband and my…brother, were stationed as guards for a time and I assume they were ordered to do so. Since then, they have both killed to keep my daughter and I safe and alive, both guards and thieves who attacked us. My daughter is eight, and innocent.”

Telling the woman about their existence and their pasts was risky, but what other choice did she have? Geralt wouldn’t make it much longer without help, and the woman stood between her and the only place that might provide the illegal medical care they needed.

“Four is too many. We’ve room for three.”

Yennefer didn’t know if she was testing her character, but she answered honestly. “Take them. My brother is only marked for helping me.” She tried to sweeten the prospect. “My husband is a skilled hunter, once he’s well he would prove a great asset to you.”

The woman reached her wrinkled hand to Yennefer’s face, tracing the cheekbone made more prominent by the bevy of skipped meals. “Says she with the gaunt face. How skilled can he be?”

She shushed Yennefer’s attempt to defend him, knowing there was simply no game to be had close to the town this time of year.

“Very well, I’ll help you. Take me to them, but mark my words, if you cross me it’ll be your family who pays the price.”

\------

The old woman bent over Geralt’s unconscious form, Yennefer wringing her hands on the opposite side of his chest. Jaskier stood with his a hand on Ciri’s shoulder, the other near his pistol, but both of them looking on hopefully. The woman peeled back the bandages Yennefer had applied carefully.

“You’ve done a good job with this, what do you know about medicine?” She asked, prodding his chest and leaning to listen to his shallow breathing.

Yennefer tore her gaze from his pale face. “My mother was a nurse. I know the basics, and a bit of herbal healing.”

“I’d say more than a bit, I’ve made a similar poultice before myself.” She sighed. “We’ve got to get in there and stop the bleeding, and soon.” She stood on her creaking knees, brought her fingers to her mouth, and let a piercing whistle wring through the trees.

Men and woman appeared seemingly out of nowhere. They were dressed warmly, some of their clothes homespun, and they were clean cut. One of the women smiled at her. The old woman directed them with military precision. Yennefer had Geralt resting on a pair of sleeping bags, their quilt tucked up to his chin.

Four men came forward and each grabbed sections of the bedding, creating a makeshift stretcher. She wasn’t ready for him to go, but she knew he needed a doctor as soon as possible. The men gave her a moment to whisper her love to his ear and press a kiss to his lips before they began walking him toward the main road.

She pulled Jaskier aside. “She can only take three. I need you to keep them both safe.” Jaskier protested.

“No, promise me.” He finally relented, pulling her tight for a quick embrace.

“I’ll to my best Red, but not sure how much good I’ll be once he separates my head from my body for leaving you behind.”

He was still on that _Little Red Riding Hood_ joke. She managed half a smile for him.

Ciri packed her things excitedly, and Yennefer helped her attach the bag to Hera’s saddle. Yennefer knelt in the snow, and brought the little girl’s face close to hers. She cried when Yennefer explained she wouldn’t be going with them. She pulled at her bag, dramatically refusing to go through her tears.

“Sweetie.” Yennefer wiped her cheeks. “My brave girl. You know that Geralt and I love you so much, as though we were your parents ourselves.” Ciri whimpered, sniffling stubbornly. “Geralt is weak, he needs a little angel to watch over him. Can you do that for me sweetheart?”

Her sobs returned, but she clung to Yennefer in a tight hug. Ciri nodded against her throat. She helped her up onto Hera’s back, and with a face full of determination rivaling that of a grown woman, she pinched her heels together and the horse followed the rest of the group.

Yennefer couldn’t watch. She sat down on one of the dead trees they’d dragged by the small fire pit. Her hands trembled inside her gloves, the lone pack at her feet. She didn’t know where to go next, and felt the sudden urge to just curl up and sleep, as everything she cared about rode off. She didn’t dare sneak back into that town, the sight of that poor woman swinging from the - , “Girl!”

The old woman’s voice echoed across the woods. “I won’t question your character again, hurry and catch up or I’ll really leave you!”

\------

When they arrived at the main road, they transferred Geralt into the back of a beat up mini-van. Their three horses, a man on a dirt bike and the mounts belonging to the rest of her group followed the van along the rural roads.

The old woman rode next to Yennefer and Ciri. “How is it that you can travel main roads without being stopped?” Yennefer asked.

“They’re afraid of me. I had to do some nasty things when we first started the place, but those government idiots are so afraid of the marks and my people, that they have turned a somewhat blind eye. My name is Nenneke, and if you find yourself in peril, use it.”

Yennefer gave her their names, pressing a kiss to Ciri’s hat, so grateful to be holding her again.

“Your husband reminds me of my son. Same strong build and handsome face, he went grey early as well. I lost him two years ago to those feral bastards that strung up that poor girl.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. If he’s like Geralt, then he was a wonderful man.”

Nenneke recognized the apprehension in her voice. “He’ll make it.” Her words were as much for Yennefer as for Ciri.

\------

They stopped to rest the horses on a picturesque beach, a stream carrying fresh water to the ocean just next to them. Ciri was fascinated, never having seen the ocean before. She stripped off her boots and socks, wading around in the cool water, Jaskier chasing her around and muttering about frostbite.

Yennefer hefted herself up into the back of the van to check on Geralt. He wasn’t feverish, for which she was grateful, but she didn’t think it was possible for his face to get any whiter. She held his hand and pressed her lips to his fingers. “You promised, Geralt. Hold on, we’re so close to getting you patched up.” She ghosted her lips over the short beard he’d been growing. “I love you.”

Nenneke cleared her throat from behind the van and Yennefer startled.

“When we go through the city tomorrow, keep your eyes forward, and don’t engage with anyone we encounter. It’s a wasteland, and only the roughest and most unforgiving survive there.”

\------

The woman had not exaggerated. Even in the cold winter air, the city wreaked. It smelled of death and decay. Emaciated dogs ran wild, and dirty faces peered from broken windows at their caravan as they passed through. It was like a war zone.

Suddenly, a small child ran into the street toward Hera, his red curls grimy and unkempt. “Please Miss! Save me!”

The horse jumped, pulling away from the child. “Don’t Yennefer, it’s a trap.” Nenneke’s voice remained firm behind her. Yennefer steeled herself, and Ciri hid her face.

\------

They traveled for hours, and just as the sun was beginning to set, they came upon a massive bridge. An old sign reading “Sunrise Highway,” Rt. 27, loomed overhead. The far end of the bridge was barricaded. Another strong whistle from Nenneke, a different tune this time, sounded from behind them. She had a feeling Geralt would like this woman, how fond they both were of their coded whistles and discreet looks.

The barricaded walls were rolled to either side, and the van carrying Geralt proceeded through and headed to the left. “Follow the van to sick bay girls, someone will bring you dinner and show you where you’ll be staying soon. Jaskier, you’re with me.”

It was getting dark, but she could tell that the compound was gigantic. After traveling through what was left of Manhattan, it was like an oasis, and hopefully not a mirage. Generators hummed in the distance as she and Ciri followed the men carrying Geralt into what used to be an immediate care facility. A mini hospital if she’d seen one.

Blessed heat. A small propane heater pumped away in the corner as they carefully transferred him to an exam table. Their physician came in and talked to them as she assessed Geralt. How on earth had they managed to save an actual doctor? Her mark must have appeared immediately. The harsh glare from the fluorescent light hurt Yennefer’s eyes. How long had it been since she’d been in a dwelling that boasted electricity?

“Hi, my name is Tissaia. Do you know his blood type?” She sliced through Geralt’s shirt and pulled it away.

Ciri was glued to her hip. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t.”

“No matter, I’ve got some good old O neg ready to go. If I can ask your little girl to stand back a bit, just for disease prevention, and if you could scrub up and assist me?”

Yennefer was shocked when she motioned to a sink on the far wall. She shucked off her coat and leapt into action. Ciri hung back, hope plain on her young features. Yennefer joined the middle aged woman at Geralt’s side. “Thank you.” She meant it more than she ever had in her life.

“Don’t thank me till he’s kickin’ again.”

\------

Tissaia was skilled, but Yennefer wanted to weep when she saw the damage in Geralt’s chest. The woman patched it up, her stitches tight and uniform. She hoped the only thing he would take from the wound was a scar.

Jaskier eventually came in and brought them both a hearty beef and potato stew. It was the best thing the three of them had eaten in weeks, if not months, and she wished Geralt was awake to try it. A young boy of no more than twelve came to get them shortly after. He introduced himself as Dara, and offered to take them to their lodging.

Ciri was dead on her feet, and Yenenfer convinced her to go with Jaskier. When they were gone, she took the cloth and the basin Tissaia had left for her, and she washed him gently. She spoke quietly, telling him how proud of Ciri he would be, and how he needed to wake up so he could prove to Nenneke that she hadn’t over embellished his hunting and tracking skills. She dragged the cloth over his chest and thought about how he’d done the same for her so many weeks ago.

She set the basin aside and climbed onto the bed next to him, folding her body into his carefully. Then Yennefer allowed herself something she hadn’t for so long, she cried.

\------

Tissaia found her wrapped around him in the morning and woke her with a cup of oatmeal. Again, the food tasted divine. Jaskier brought an excited Ciri back, and she chattered on to Yennefer about her new room and the things she had seen. Jaskier had to agree, the place was impressive, and heaven compared to sleeping in the snow with one eye open.

Nenneke appeared, and asked Yennefer to accompany her. Ciri had brought a book with her from the _library_ , a concept that she thought might never be fact again, and was planning to read to Geralt.

“Get outta here and take a shower Red, you stink.” Jaskier joked.

“You are lucky I’m not in the mood to rip you a new one in front of our host. Lest she think I’m not the prim and proper, dainty angel that I am.” Yennefer smirked and followed Nenneke out into the sunny morning.

“Walk with me.” She led Yennefer down a shoveled sidewalk. “Why does he call you Red? Your hair is as dark as midnight.”

Yennefer gave a half smile. “He thinks he’s being funny. Geralt being the hunter, he fancies me Little Red Riding Hood.”

“Is he truly a buffoon?”

Yennefer _did_ laugh at that. “No, but he talks relentlessly and puts his foot in his mouth. And he’s jealous, because I’ve distracted his friend from him. I have to admit to you, he is not my brother.”

The older woman wasn’t surprised. “I figured. Count yourself lucky that there wasn’t a chance your daughter inherited his flair for being…a bit much.” She watched Yennefer’s reaction, as though she waited for her to add to her admission, but Yennefer simply folder her hands and took in her surroundings.

There was a snowy hill not far away, and it was littered with children, sledding and tossing snowballs at one another. The sight was comforting, and yet surreal. Suddenly she realized that some of the children were quite young. “How many babies have been born here?”

“Nineteen, and I’m proud to admit we have not lost a mother or infant yet. The island is vast Yennefer. We only inhabit about twenty percent of it right now. There is acre after acre of parks and ponds at our backs, and estate after estate, each more lavish than the next.”

“We raise animals and farm, as you no doubt figured out from your supper. We do a lot of hard work, and I’ll tell you now, that it’ll be required of all of you if you wish to stay. We have our internal squabbles, and a council that meets weekly, but we all pull our own weight.”

Yennefer stopped. “I had assumed as much. You won’t have a problem getting work out of us.” She met Nenneke’s gaze. “The girl in the street, who didn’t make it. You were trying to bring her here as well?”

Nenneke shook her head in disappointment. “Yes. She’d been asking about us, but she spoke to the wrong people, and I wasn’t there in time to slip her out. The same fate you would have met if you hadn’t turned tail and ran. The council meets and decides our plans, but periodically we leave the island to hunt supplies and to save more lives.”

“We have more resources, and everyone here has been helped by someone at some point - we all want to give back. The mark is just that, a harmless mark, and we refuse to live in fear and ignorance.”

Suddenly, Yennefer heard someone calling her name. Jaskier ran down the path after them, huffing to catch his breath. “He’s asking for you.”

———

-Geralt-

He eyed the old woman in the corner of the room wearily. Yennefer had been so relived to see him awake, he thought her smile might light up the room on it’s own. Ciri and Jaskier had filled the space with happy chatter, weaving a tale of the mysterious old woman, and a night spent on the beach. Jaskier broke the news to him about the fate of Manhattan, while Ciri gushed about her new bedroom and her new friend, Dara. It took both of them to drag Yennefer away to shower, taunting her with the pleasure of the warm water and she promised to return to him right away.

The woman stepped forward, the only one in the room for a few moments. She didn’t beat around the bush, and he could appreciate that. He didn’t either.

“She put herself at great risk to save your life, you should know.”

“I’m not surprised. Tell me, because she’ll water down the story just to spare my guilt.”

“I’ve taken a liking to your little wife, and I admit had been prepared to find you not worth her time. But damnit if you aren’t a match for her. She walked right past the rotting carcasses and snuck into that shit hole Edison. She watched a woman her age hang for her mark, and then proceeded to agree to whore herself to save your life.”

Geralt had a formidable poker face, but he visibly balked at her words. He tried to sit up. She laid a cool hand on his bare shoulder and pushed him back down. “I’ll not have you rip those stitches and die on us anyway.”

“Is that what this is, you whore out your women and make slaves of the men?” He was too exhausted to sugar coat things, and he went right for the throat.

“Not in the least. Yennefer is smart enough to prevent that from happening to your family.”

It sounded so foreign to hear her name on another person’s lips. They had been isolated for months.

“Tell me the truth, is Yennefer your wife?”

“She is in every way that matters, barring a sheet of paper in a file cabinet under the guise of a ruined government.”

“Good answer.”

———

“Ouch.” He hissed. Yennefer’s had froze, where she had it gripped around the brush. She started again more gently on the snarl in his silvery white hair.

“You should be happy that a few tugs on your thick head is all you get for leaving me when you promised you wouldn’t.” Just the thought had her leaning to kiss him again, thankful he was alright.

He clutched her arm and kept her close. “I’m here, I didn’t leave.”

Her tone was a vulnerable one, a voice that he had rarely heard since he’d known her. “You left for the longest four days of my life.”

“And look what you accomplished in my absence, I think I’ve been holding you back all this time.” He rubbed his hand on her arm. “Come here love.”

She slid her boots off and climbed up next to him, flicking the light switch on the wall as she went. He wrapped his arm around her, and she snuggled into his chest, careful of the incision site. “You weren’t holding me back, you were holding me up.”

The kiss he gave her after that was full of fire and desire. He separated their lips, his hand warm and sure on her jaw. “Thank you for what you did, for Ciri, for Jaskier, and for me. I love you so fucking much, but don’t ever do it again.”

“She told you.”

“What were you thinking?” His voice betrayed his fear. “You could have been killed a hundred times over that day!” He was trying to sound angry, but she could hear the fear under his words.

“I was thinking of _this_ moment, instead of the one where I ask an eight year old child to help me dig your grave with our bare hands.” She traced her palm over his ribs and across his belly. “That day is over, and I hope that low will never come again for us.”

“But you’d do it again anyway.”

“Yes.”

He sighed.

“I love you.” She tried.

“Jaskier is still alive, so it must be true.”

She laughed, and he curled his arm tighter across her back.

———

-A Few Weeks Later-

-Yennefer-

All four of them worked their proverbial butts off in the following weeks. Jaskier spent his days on the water and at their docks, having had experience fishing and repairing boats as a teenager. He preened and gloated when Geralt complimented him on the flounder they ate for dinner one night shortly after Geralt woke up.

Yennefer spent time working in the medical ward with Tissaia and a few others who had some knowledge in the area. Tissaia was the camp’s surgeon, and Nenneke herself was called upon for many a medical decision. From cuts and scrapes to fevers and stomach upset, Yennefer had never enjoyed helping people so much.

The idea that the whole of society had ruled their practice illegal because of some scary tattoo looking thing, was ludicrous to her. When she wasn’t working and learning with Tissaia, she cooked and cleaned and did what was asked of her from dawn until dusk, forever grateful to the group who’d taken them in.

Nenneke had taken to Geralt as she knew she would, regarding him almost as though he was her long lost son. His sharp mind and knack for alternative ways of doing things made him an invaluable asset. He worked mending fences and overseeing various construction projects once he recovered from his injury. She put him on her guard rotation immediately, and it was likely only a matter of time before he was leading the security operations of the entire compound.

Their assigned housing was in one of the more prominent lodging buildings, and Nenneke made no secret that she wanted him near the structure that was home to their security patrols and armaments. Much of the housing was done in a more communal style to preserve resources, but their building boasted units not too different from their life before the fall.

Nenneke had offered both he and Yennefer positions on her council after only a few weeks, and they both fell into bed with each other every night tired, but clean, fed, and content.

Ciri flourished, a far cry from the scared little girl who’d tried to pick Yennefer’s pocket. She was terribly shy at first, but with Yennefer’s encouragement and her new friend Dara, she opened up. They had established a makeshift school, and children as young as three, right through sixteen were taught a curriculum that once again included farming, mechanics and survival skills. She worked in the gardens after school and would plop down for supper andprattle on about her friends and her day.

Yennefer and Geralt would eat with her if he wasn’t on duty, and some nights Jaskier joined them. He had been sniffing around a single woman named Phillipa who’d insulted him the first time they met. As winter turned to spring, the snow melted and so did their thin frames and sharp boned faces. Hard work and steady food once again filled out Geralt’s broad chest and thick legs, and Yennefer regained curves she hadn’t seen since before the marks began, and then some.

“Off to bed Ciri, you’ve got school early in the morning.” Yennefer cleaned the plates from their evening meal.

“But it’s my Birthdayyyy,” she whined. “And Geralt hasn’t gotten home to give me my present yet.”

“He must have gotten held up, I think they were trying to finish the roof on the new horse barn before the rains came. Wash up and get your pajamas, you can read your book until he gets here.” She relented.

She sailed off to her bedroom, the second in their _dorm,_ which was really just a nice apartment. Nenneke and her small group had isolated themselves on the island early, and many of the luxurious elements of classic “Life in the Hamptons” was still present. Some of the misplaced opulence was comical, but she had to admit that the fine furnishings and sturdy walls made her all the more willing to work hard for the place. She would not soon forget sleeping in the snow with an empty belly. 

Her eyes darted to her boots, nestled in their place by the door. She had considered removing the blade she kept there, but she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to. The door opened and blocked her view, Geralt’s boots dropping heavy next to hers.

“What’s this, you’re limp – “

He silenced her with a fierce kiss, and she gasped as he walked her up against the refrigerator. She leaned into his embrace, wrapping her hands around his neck and moaning softly as his hands traveled from her hips to cup her derrière.She caressed her nails against the back of his scalp, under his _man bun_ as Jaskier had teased. Ciri came tearing in the room calling his name, and he pulled back reluctantly, but not before subtly grazing the flat of his hand against her breast and grinning at her shudder.

“Hey sunshine, are you excited for your birthday tomorrow?” He opened the stove and pulled out the plate he knew would be waiting.

“Geralt. My birthday is _today_.”

“Oh no! Really? I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you sweetie.” She stared him down until he broke. “It’s by the door.” She squealed and ran over to the doorway. Yennefer pinched his hip affectionately as he ate a large spoonful of the stew she’d set aside for him.

“Your leg?” She questioned him as he shifted his weight to one side.

“Graham, one of the older teenagers, misjudged his footing and fell.”

“And you grabbed him and wrenched your knee.” She filled in the blanks while he shrugged.

Ciri came back into the kitchen walking slowly. “Is it for me? Truly?” Ciri held the intricately carved wooden bow with awe and reverence. A small quiver made of leather that held a half a dozen arrows was attached to the bow and tied with a ribbon.

“It is. Havart carved it for you, and in exchange I’m going to cut down a few of his trees so he has a good supply for his woodworking.” He turned to Yennefer. “The old man’s a shrewd negotiator, but these hands,” he wiggled his fingers, “are more suited to chopping and hammering, rather than delicate work.”

Yennefer contradicted him. “I’ve seen them work wonders with delicate things.” He smirked at her knowing smile. Her comment went over Ciri’s head as she intended, and the little girl gave them both hugs before being shoo’d off to bed.

\------

-Geralt-

He laid under _their_ quilt, once again on top of a proper bed, and waited for her to join him. “Let me see your knee, how bad is the swelling?” He knew better than to argue, and pulled the cover back to let her prod it.

“It’s not bad, lay down.” He encouraged. To him she was a vision, always, but never more so than when she came to him bare. He had told her as much. Her utmost trust and affection in his hands, he was always careful to ensure she felt beautiful and loved.

She determined that he was right, the knee was swollen but not extremely so. She slid in next to him and he pulled her back to his chest, wrapping his arms around hers. “These?” He questioned, folding her hands between his and tracing a few cuts that littered her fingers.

“Peeling potatoes. Corinne can peel them so damn fast, I…cannot.” He brought them over her shoulder to his lips.

“Now this can’t be the result of a vengeful vegetable.” He gestured to bruise on her arm that was starting to change from red to purple.

“Moving boxes in the medical unit, glassware and testing equipment.”

“Yen.” He brushed his lips to her bare shoulder. “You can’t run yourself ragged and bloody, slow down.”

She turned her head to face him. “I’ll slow when you do.” She smiled victoriously even before he answered.

“Is that a challenge?” His voice was laden with promise.

She shifted and rubbed her rear against his legs. “I suppose it is.” The relative safety of their island community had awoken her adventurous side, and he loved that she could express herself so freely with him.

His hand found her hip and they moved together, fingers trailing and lips teasing. He murmured into her hair, praising the sweet smell of her homemade shampoo. He reached between her thighs and worried the skin of her collarbone with his teeth.

She hummed and pushed against his hand, her hips and her search for pleasure in his touch uninhibited. He brought her to the brink and beyond, hushing her mewls and grounding her as she returned back to their bed.

She pressed the pillow to her mouth and he groaned into her neck. Her leg twisted around his, and his rough palm cradled her breast as they rocked together. The beginnings of a beard pinked the skin of her throat when she twisted in his arms.

She tangled her hand in his long hair and clung to him, his breath coming hard in between hungry kisses. “Geralt?” she whispered, her speech hurried.

“Yeah baby?” His tone desperate and breathless.

“Together.” She urged, bringing his hand to her mouth.

“Always love, always.”

\------

Yennefer watched as Ciri squealed and played with a group of children on a little playground, their shouts of “you’re it!” ringing through the warming, spring air. It was her afternoon off, and she’d brought a book, but seeing the joy on the children’s faces was too distracting.

Nenneke appeared from behind her as she always seemed to do, and sat down on the bench next to her. Ciri paused for a moment to wave at Yennefer, before launching back into the game. Nenneke cut right to the chase, another one of her habits. “She’s not yours, is she?”

Yennefer kept her eyes on Ciri, but there was no reason to lie to the woman any longer. “No, she’s not. She tried to rob me in a small trading town east of Pittsburgh. She had no one.”

“I could tell, in the woods when I first laid eyes on her. I was expecting her parents, well, her father. He was an engineer. He had described her, and we went all the way across the state to get them. We found no trace of any of them by the time we arrived. When I recognized her, I knew you’d taken her in. That’s when I decided to help you.”

Yennefer nodded. “Thank you.”

“Just make sure you reassure her that your love won’t waver when this little one comes along.”

Yennefer turned her head quickly, her expression shocked. Nenneke laughed out loud, tipping her head back in sincere amusement.

“Tissaia told you!” Yennefer accused.

Nenneke pulled herself together. “I suspected as much and I asked her. Congratulations.”

Yennefer put her head in her hands. “I don’t know if that’s even appropriate. We starved ourselves for weeks, what if he or she isn’t healthy? We don’t have a real hospital, or -“

Nenneke shushed her. “Tissaia said all the tests she ran came back normal, and that she told you the same thing. Don’t cause yourself stress if it isn’t necessary. What you need to do, is tell him, and then you won’t feel like it’s some shameful secret.”

“How do you know he doesn’t know?”

“I saw you bent over one of the rain barrels scrubbing the bejesus out of a pile of laundry. That man is practically in charge of the eyes and ears of this place, and there’s no way in hell he’d let you strain yourself like that if he knew. What I want to know, is how he hasn’t seen it himself! My nephew lives in the apartment next to yours, so I know it’s not that he hasn’t seen you naked lately.”  
  
She gave her a pointed look and Yennefer’s cheeks reddened. “I told him that I was getting fat from the food here and begged him not to ask me about it.”

She shook her head. “Tell him.”

Suddenly, a high pitched siren began to blare and Nenneke jumped from the bench faster than a woman of her age should be able to. There was a threat at their main gate, all on horseback, riders already half way across the bridge. The children scattered, and Ciri plastered herself to Yennefer’s side.

They both followed Nenneke to the gates. She allowed them to climb up the wooden staircase behind the fence with her, and they stepped onto a wooden platform. The parapet wall was tall, and had cut outs for weapons or viewing.

Nenneke shouted, “What’s the meaning of your approach? The signs on the Manhattan side should have informed you that this bridge is occupied.”

Yennefer risked a glance, and pulled her face from the opening quickly. Red coats, a sea of them. She held Ciri tight to her chest. “Yennefer, I’ve got to go get my bow!”

“Next time sweetheart.” She pressed a hurried kiss to her hair.

The man at the front of the group spurred his horse forward, his grey hair and pompous face scrunched up into a rather unappealing frown. He shouted, “I know I’m supposed to be afraid of some old hag, but I’m sorry to disappoint you! I don’t want to burn you to the ground, even though I should, but I want my fugitives delivered to me immediately. Eyewitnesses have a mousey girl with black hair, and two traitorous guards of mine absconding to your camp. They’ve killed more government personnel than I’d like to admit, and I’ll have them back for a proper execution. Hand them over and I’ll leave.”

She closed her eyes. It was the _one_ , Geralt and Jaskier’s old captain. The bloodthirsty man who’d been hunting them for months. The one who tortured his victims before they met violent deaths.

“I saw the girl in Edison, just as you say.” Nenneke barked, her voice clipped. “But she’s dead, an infection. Don’t know anything about two guards. Turn back.” She lied.

Nenneke turned and whispered to Yennefer and Ciri. “I’ve heard of this man, Stregobor. His cruelty is legendary, so I’m afraid we may have to fight.”

Yennefer’s stomach was in her throat, still in shock that he’d followed them all the way across the state.

He put his tongue between his teeth and hissed in displeasure. “You’re going to have to do better than that.” He called. “I need bodies, to justify my march across two states after these traitors. If you won’t give me them, start sending out replacements in their stead. I’ll need more though. I’d say about fifty or so will do.”

Nenneke held up her hand and the gate rolled open. A group of armed riders began filtering through to face the intruders. Yennefer searched frantically for a man of Geralt’s stature, or his unique hair, but Nenneke tapped her shoulder. “No, he’s over there.” She pointed to one of the many small crow’s nests that lined the fence. His rifle rested at the base the small aperture in the wall, and his sights were intently set, no doubt, on Stregobor.

She had to do something. She knew Nenneke wouldn’t send him his requested sacrificial lambs, and many would lose their lives or be injured if they fought. From the day her mark had first appeared, the peril they had faced had been her fault. She had an idea.

She gave Ciri a tight hug. “I’ve forgotten something, stay with Nenneke.”

———

-Geralt-

He laid along the flat surface of the parapet, Stregobor’s beady eyes in his sights, fighting himself not to pull the trigger. He clenched his jaw, trying not to think about the way Yennefer had trembled in his arms after one of Stregobor’s men attacked her. No, a bullet between the eyes was too good for the bastard.

The men and women on horseback who had left the gates to face the oncoming force wore their faces covered in quick swipes of paint to disguise their identities. It was an idea Geralt had offered. On one hand it made them look mysterious and intimidating, and on the other, supply runs and missions beyond the gates to save others would be made easier if it wasn’t known that they were marked.

One rider pulled from the group to approach and speak with Stregobor. He was slight of frame and had long, dark hair. _Son of a bitch_. He jerked the scope to see her ride right up to the devil, face bare, heart on her sleeve. _Of course_ , she would try to bargain with him.

He put Stregobor’s forehead back in his field of view and waited for him to make a move. His gnarled face lit up when he realized who had come forward to negotiate with him. He listened, and it was a miracle, but it looked like they reached an agreement. He had to remind himself to breathe and keep his hands steady. He needed the use of them, so he could shake some sense into her later.

They both nodded on their accord, and Yennefer turned her horse to return to the gates when he lunged and pulled a pistol from a saddlebag at his knee. The sun glinted off the metal and Geralt fired. He pulled the action back to ready his next shot and watched as Stregobor tipped from the saddle and hit the pavement hard.

Stregobor’s horse spooked and backed up, dragging his body by the stirrup that still held his left boot. The men behind them raised their weapons, as did the group below Geralt, but miraculously, both sides held. Yennefer and her horse reached the side of the bridge before she leaned forward and began to slide to one side of the saddle.

“Mama!”

Ciri’s shriek rang out across the bridge, but Geralt was already halfway down the wall, rifle slung over his back. Nenneke grabbed her before she could vault down the staircase behind them. She held the squirming girl tight, and barked through the opening in the fence.

“Turn back and forget what you’ve seen, or die today!”

Another guard walked his horse forward and held both of his hands in the air submissively. “We have no quarrel with you, but we can’t leave. We’ll be marked ourselves for helping you.”

Geralt ran past the horses, ignoring the threat of the guards, and found her slumped over her horses’s neck. “Yennefer?, Yen?” He pulled the hair from her face and saw her eyes were closed. He slid her over his shoulder and saw the dark, bloody slick that ran down the horses’s side. He turned and ran, their friends and neighbors closing ranks to protect his back.

Nenneke watched from above and barked, “Third and final option. Join us. Wear your marks as what they truly are, a blemish of no more import than a birthmark.”

He slipped through the gate with her and ran for the medical building.

Only three men of the large group crossed the bridge to join their ranks. _So be it_ , Nenneke thought. She raised her fist in the air and bullets flew.

———

Anticipating a flood of wounded, Tissaia and her apprentices stood waiting. If she was shocked that the first patient on her table was Yennefer, she didn’t show it. Blood poured from a hole in her thigh, and Tissaia struggled to stem the flow so she could pull the bullet out. Ciri had been with Nenneke, and he knew she would do what was needed to protect her.

Geralt watched on worriedly as Yennefer’s face seemed to visibly pale. Finally she dropped the destructive little nugget into a metal pan with a clink, and instructed one of the older boys to fetch her a bag of blood while she quickly sewed up her leg.

“She’ll be alright Geralt.” Two more people were brought in for treatment, one man moaning in pain. “Normally I would just monitor her instead of the transfusion, but the baby makes everything more risky. If she lost enough before you got her here, her body could start doing damage control and she could miscarry.”

He looked as though she’d slapped him.

“Honest Geralt, I think they’ll both be alright, but I’m being cautious.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’ve got to move on, but I’ll be right over there and Patrick will keep an eye on her.”

———

Jaskier sat down next to him and filled him in on the battle. They lost three, and as many were injured, but it was nothing in comparison to the number of fatalities in Stregobor’s troop.

“I thought she had him man, she fought the good fight.” He gestured toward the bed where Yennefer rested. “Its funny seeing her there and you in the chair, flip flop of my memories of this room.”

Geralt groaned and rubbed his temples. Jaskier pressed on. “Your mini me is with Grandmother Willow. Chompin’ at the bit to get in here and see her, but she gave Ciri the ‘mommy and daddy need to talk first’ speech. That whole _mama_ deal, that new?”

“Yes, she always calls her Yennefer. She’s…Yennefer is pregnant, according to Tissaia.” He was still trying to absorb what the woman had said. He was about to be a father, maybe. Nothing was ever simple.

“That’s awesome brother, because I thought she was just getting fat.” He threw up his hands in surrender at Geralt’s sharp look. “I mean, I was all for it - for _you_ man, more cushion for the push-“

Jaskier’s sense of survival kicked in and he closed his mouth.

“Wait, according to? She didn’t tell you…and that’s what Nenneke meant.” Understanding followed by pity in his tone.

Yennefer stirred, her hand twitching in Geralt’s loose grip. Jaskier claimed that was his cue to leave and he bade Geralt goodbye until their shift the next day.

Her lashes fluttered open and she smiled when she saw him leaning over her bed. After reassuring her that Ciri was safe and kissing her breathless, he told her what Tissaia had predicted regarding her recovery.

He brought her knuckles to his lips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She sighed. “I was ashamed, and worried. We ate so little for so long, I was afraid that I would lose her or she would be sick.” He squeezed her hand. “Not that we wouldn’t love a sick baby, but we don’t have the specialists and facilities. And we’d have to live knowing we harmed our baby.” Her voice faded.

“You didn’t have to shoulder that yourself. I won’t break, and I won’t _ever_ leave, let me take some of that from you.”

She relented with a wobbly sigh. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry about. I love you so much.” He tucked arm around her and laid his head on her chest. “Except maybe for walking right up to a firing squad and shaving a good twenty years off of my life, however well intentioned.”

“You would have done the same thing.” She insisted, combing her fingers across his scalp comfortingly.

Before he could admit she was right, Ciri and Nenneke came in hesitantly and Geralt sat up straight. When she saw that Yennefer was awake, she threw her little arms around her shoulders and wouldn’t let go. “Ma -, Yennefer, you’ll be alright?”

“Of course sweetie, I’m so sorry I scared you.”

“Damn right you did.”

Yennefer’s eyes widened and Geralt held back his smile. “ _Language_ ,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry, but when your mama does something foolish, you gotta make sure she doesn’t do it again.” She fidgeted with one of Yennefer’s curls. “I don’t need a mater,” _Martyr,_ Nenneke echoed with a smile, “but I do want my mother.” Ciri buried her face in Yennefer’s shirt and waited for the arguments and censure. They never came.

———

-Epilogue Two Years Later-

-Yennefer-

Yennefer sighed as she watched Ciri push the green beans around her plate. On one hand, it meant she was healing from their past, and was comfortable enough with their lives to leave food on her plate. On the other, Yennefer was irritated because she’d spent hours washing and snapping bushel after bushel of said beans. Ciri was eleven, and thriving wonderfully on the island. Every day Yennefer was amazed at how smart and caring she was.

Yennefer had to quit her rounds in the medical building three weeks before, the pain in her back had been more than she could hide. She wasn’t due for another two weeks, but the summer heat and her sore back was making her cranky. Geralt had been gone for three days on a supply run with eight other men and women, and she missed him terribly.

“Eat half of those and you can go play with Dara.” Yennefer knew she was impatient to run off, and took pity on her. She shoveled the vegetables into her mouth and ran to the door, before running back and giving Yennefer a kiss on the cheek.

The door latched behind her and Yennefer turned to the little boy in the high chair next to her. “You like mama’s beans, don’t you sweetie?”

He kicked his bare feet and clapped, “No.”

She offered him a spoonful of the mushed vegetable and he took it enthusiastically. “That’s _yes_ , I do like those beans ‘cause you worked hard on them and I love you mama.”

Their little boy, Nathan, had been born Yennefer’s squalling miracle. His soft curls were as dark as night after his mother, but everything else about the little boy screamed Geralt. Every day he looked more and more like this father, with his serious little facial expressions and sweet disposition.

She finished giving him his supper and cleaned the table and his soft cheeks. She sneezed, moaning at the pain it caused in her back and he giggled, shouting, “You!” She smiled, soon he would remember the _bless_ part. She put some water on the stove, thinking peppermint tea would soothe her muscles and hefted him out of his chair.

His feet had no more than cleared the chair when warm liquid began to run down her thigh, soaking through the light sundress she wore. “ _Shit_.” She cursed under her breath, and set him down wide of the growing puddle on the floor.

“Shit,” he whispered, mimicking her shocked tone.

“Oh no honey, mama said a bad word. Don’t tell papa.” She was two weeks early, at least. She prayed everything was alright.

Nathan tried to step in the puddle and she turned him around and pointed him toward his little farm play set. Pain gripped her back and rolled across her abdomen, clenching her muscles and her jaw alike. She blew out a shaky breath and went to fetch her cleaning supplies. She didn’t even make it to the pantry before the pain gripped her again and she had to lean against the counter.

Her contractions were coming faster and stronger than they had for the first few hours of labor with Nathan, and it seemed like this baby wanted _out_. Of course it would happen unexpectedly when Geralt was traipsing across the state. She forced herself to push her resentment down, it wasn’t his fault, and everything he did was for their family.

She had another bout of pain before she got back to the mess, and she started to worry that she might have to have her baby right there on the kitchen floor. She wrangled her jumping mind into submission and finished cleaning the puddle, when Ciri burst back in, claiming she left the book she wanted to return to Dara in her room.

She ran over when she saw Yennefer bent over her chair, groaning and blowing air through her nose. “Oh mama, I’m sorry, I never should have left!”

Yennefer caught her breath and straightened. “You couldn’t have known honey.”

“What can I do? We’ll go to medical? Papa’s not here, you can’t have the baby yet!”

“Stay calm, everything will be fine.” Yennefer righted a lock of Ciri’s hair before she doubled over on the chair again, a cry tearing from her clenched jaw.

“I won’t make it there I don’t think. Don’t worry, that doesn’t matter. Can you please take your brother downstairs and see if Jaskier and Philippa can keep an eye on him tonight? His bag is by the door.”

Ciri gathered his bag, and too impatient to find his shoes, lifted him into her arms. “He’s heavy Ciri.” Yennefer warned.

“Mama, if I can help carry the hunt and do more push ups than Dara, I can carry my brother down some stairs. I’ll run to get Tissaia as soon as they have him, don’t you go anywhere!”

 _Yes, Geralt_ she thought with a smile as the door clicked shut. She made her way to the bedroom between contractions and changed out of the sundress and into a clean nightgown. She was feeling nauseous, the same as she had with Nathan, so she headed to their bathroom.

———

-Ciri-

She found Tissaia having dinner with some of the other medical staff in the communal dining room, and the woman had come with her right away when she saw the panicked look on Ciri’s face. She described how much pain Yennefer had appeared to be in, and Tissaia walked faster to their building.

They arrived and Yennefer was nowhere to be seen. “Mama?” She called. They heard a moan from her parent’s bedroom. She and Tissaia found her in their bathtub on a haphazard pile of towels, curled up in pain. Nathan had been born in the medical building while she was at school, Geralt by her side, so Ciri didn’t know what to think about the agonized moans and whimpers that echoed through the bathroom.

Tissaia opened her bag and asked Ciri to get Yennefer a glass of juice.

When she came back, Yennefer was gripping the sides of the tub and shouting. “Ciri, don’t look baby!” She tried to wave her off before a blood curdling scream ripped from her lips.

Tissaia sounded positive and encouraging, but Ciri knew she was dying. She had to be. She would lose yet another mother, and Geralt wasn’t even there to hold her hand. Before she could overthink it, she set the juice on the counter and knelt by Yennefer’s shoulder. Sweat dampened her hair, and her hand slid on the tub, trying to find purchase.

Ciri grabbed her mother’s arm and clasped her small hand in hers, the dainty gold band Geralt had slipped on her finger comforting to see. “I love you mama, and so does papa. You can do it!” Ciri wasn’t going to face her father and tell him she’d run and hid while Yennefer suffered. She would make him proud.

———

-Geralt-

The main gate rumbled open and Geralt’s hunting party rolled through, headed to the stables to see to their horses. He heard shouting in the distance, and Dara ran up to him at full speed. Something was _wrong_. “It’s Yennefer, she -“

He spurred his horse to a gallop before Dara could finish, headed toward the medical center. “Your home!” He called after Geralt, still panting, and he veered the horse in the opposite direction, raising his hand in thanks. He rode at a breakneck pace, a thousand scenarios in his head about why she hadn’t made it to the medical building, none of them encouraging.

He slid from Hera’s tired back and didn’t even take the time to tether her, knowing she wouldn’t stray. His boots pounded up the stairs, two, three at a time. He burst into the kitchen, wild eyes and panic on his face. Jaskier and Philippa sat playing with Nathan. “Whoa man, she’s alright. They’re in the bedroom.” Jaskier offered.

Geralt crossed the threshold of their bedroom and froze. Yennefer was propped against the headboard, tucked in their quilt, a little bundle in her arms and a soft smile on her face when she saw him. Ciri walked across his path and barked, “Well, papa, it’s about time. I love you, but you better say you’re sorry.” She nodded her head definitively and closed the door behind her.

His wife’s eyes shone with amusement at her sassy tone. “She’s a bit traumatized, go easy on her.”

He shucked his boots off, and the shirt he wore, both filthy from his journey. He bent by the side of the bed and kissed her, his relief at finding them both in good health evident. “I am though, so sorry I wasn’t here. Are you alright?”

“Yes, and you couldn’t have known Geralt.” She pushed the blanket back with her finger so he could see more of the baby’s face as she suckled. “Here’s your new baby girl. Unfortunately she has her mother’s patience, and arrived in a bit of a hurry. In our bathtub.”

“God, she is beautiful. You did so good.” He ran his thumb over her forehead. “She’s got my light hair.” Geralt had had nearly blonde hair before it went ash grey suddenly in his early twenties.

“You’ll have to finally shave that beard love, or she won’t wanna give her papa kisses.”

“We can’t have that now, can we?”

———

He pulled the quilt over both of them, the baby finally asleep in the basinet next to Yennefer’s side of the bed. “This quilt’s been through a hell of a lot, and come a long way.” He commented, his voice low as to not wake her again.

She pressed her forehead to his chest. “So have we.” He kissed her temple.

“I told Nenneke not to expect either of us to any of the council meetings for the next two weeks.” She nodded against his skin.

“Is she still claiming she’s going mysteriously keel over dead any day now, and that I’m supposed to take her place at the head of the table?” She wrapped her arm around his back.

“Of course she is, she’s had you lined up as her successor since she first pulled us out of that woods.”

“God, Geralt, can you imagine if she hadn’t grabbed my arm in that market?” He held her tighter. “Or if you’d done your job that day I came to you?”

“Don’t wanna think about it.” He ran his hand over the mark on her wrist. “We’re going to change it. Every time we leave, we come home with more people. We brought back a pair of teenage boys today, and I think they’re pretty smart to have survived as they were. Though, I’m weary of such mongrels as boys that age with Ciri turning twelve soon.”

She hummed in amusement, sleep calling her. “There is something, somewhere, that’s laughing at the foolishness of all of us. To let fear overtake the lives of the entire human race, and to crumble society over some mysterious blemish.”

He brushed his lips to hers. “Yours isn’t a blemish, it’s a gift. It brought me to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The questions Nenneke asks in order to vet potential newcomers to her settlement is borrowed directly from AMC’s The Walking Dead. Some of these post apocalyptic survival themes probably are as well, as that show played a big role in shaping my head canon on such. ☺
> 
> So much for this short little drabble XD XD

**Author's Note:**

> AN: If anyone might be able to cheat death, its our babies. This is a weird one that got out of hand, but I don’t hate it, so what the hell, - there ya go.


End file.
